Mr Grey's Wild Ride
by amgomer
Summary: In life, everyone follows their own path, to the beat of their own drum (or submissive), deciding their own fate. From Harvard dropout to billionaire mogul, I was there for his journey. I, Ros Bailey, occupied the sidecar of Mr. Grey's Wild Ride. Life as I knew it was never the same.
1. Chapter 1: The Kid, F-Wad & the Bitch

**Author's Note: Please note a word was deemed offensive in this story, so I changed it. My apologies to anyone who found the word, which will not be repeated, offensive... Ana**

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**Chapter 1 – The Dropout, the F-Wad, & the Bitch**

The day I will always remember is the day nearly seven years ago that the cocky, wet behind the ears, twenty-year old asshole, Harvard dropout walked into Lyden Technologies, LT for short, as the new Lord and Master. Accompanying the kid was _Mr._ _Fuckwad _himself, though calling him mister gives him too much respect. Part of me was thrilled that someone bought the place before it disappeared like Atlantis, another part of me wondered if this kid wearing overpriced jeans, black t-shirt, and a leather jacket that looked like it came out of a biker closet – never mind those stupid Aviator sunglasses. His outfit screamed arrogant prick, delusional, and most of all, pretentious douche bag.

At twenty-four, I, Ros Bailey, was the Chief Financial Officer to the _Fuckwad_ owner, an asshole if there ever was one, who had been making one bad decision after another for the past few years. The fucker took his brilliant technological achievement and eventually flushed it down the proverbial crapper – almost literally.

It was thrilling when I first started at LT. All eyes were on us as the next hot up and comer out of Seattle's own tech company. I went to Stanford University with the _Fuckwad_. Why do I call him that? Well, when someone completely and utterly screws up a potentially multimillion dollar company, in my book, he becomes my own personal _Voldemort_ – he who should not be named; so he will forever be known as the _Fuckwad_, or FT for short. _Thank you JK Rowling, I bow before your greatness!_ While Voldemort was pure evil, my _Fuckwad_ earned his name for his stupidity. After all, he wasn't evil, just horny and that made a once brilliant man fucking stupid.

At Stanford the _Fuckwad_ worked hard, graduated valedictorian, and was motivated to achieve. The guy barely dated throughout school, though to be honest, he was a nerd, but not nerd hot as some girls like them, but so fucking fugly he'd need to have thousand dollar bills sticking out of his tighty whities to get even looked at much less laid.

We were good friends, so I was there day one when Lyden Technologies was founded fresh out of the University. Little did I realize the moment we achieved success, those large bills would go into those tighty whities, along with bottles of high end alcohol, clubbing, and whores with the business forgotten. My recommendations were ignored as his arrogance swelled with his bank account. Why did I stay you ask? Simple, I'm a vile, vindictive bitch who wanted to document his rise and fall for the book I was working on. Yes I was bitter that he was driving the business into the ground, but more than that, I was sorely disappointed in his actions. Don't get me wrong, I'm no saint, but I have no issue separating my business and personal life. Trust me, I've banged more women than the _Fuckwad_ paid to bang him after he earned his first five million and I didn't pay. Being a natural redhead has its perks when cruising the different venues that cater to the homosexual community around Seattle. Around those clubs I was simply known as Big Red.

So the kid, Christian Grey, swaggers into LT that day with his arrogance radiating from every pore. Clearly growing up he must have been treated like the sun shined out of his ass because he proceeded to point at different people and simply stated _your out, your out, your in_, and when he pointed toward me, I couldn't resist stating, "I'm out, proud, and really fucking loud. I'm out of this shithole. Don't stand too close to the _Fuckwad_" I add pointing toward the actual _Fuckwad_ "because it might rub off and trust me kid, add _Fuckwad_ to arrogant asshole and you get … well nevermind because we'll just get you!"

"Fuck you Ros," _Fuckwad_ yells at me. "You were as much a part of bringing this company to its knees as I was."

I laughed at him; actually it was probably closer to snorting with derision at him. He knew I was a major bitch. He had to know I wouldn't allow that remark to go unaddressed. As previously stated – I'm a major fucking bitch. Hell, I give major fucking bitches a bad name and when I go thermonuclear, well, some say I'm Satan incarnate and yes, I was in that instance possessed. Fuck, I'm almost aroused just remembering that day – the day I eviscerated the _Fuckwad_.

The stunned look on Grey's pretty face was hilarious when I grabbed a file from my desk, slammed the _Fuckwad_ against a wall and began my verbal assault. "Let's get one thing straight _Fuckwad_, the downfall of this company is one-hundred percent on you. At Stanford you worked your ass off to be top of our class, but no sooner than you had enough cash to pay for pussy you lose your way." I slammed the file in my hand against his chest. "Here are all the emails and other correspondence between us over the last eighteen months where I'm practically begging you to cut the crap and recommend courses of action to bring this company back from the cesspool you tossed it in. If you had listened we'd be golden and you wouldn't constantly be out of the office being treated for one venereal disease after another. I kept LT afloat while your ugly ass was balls deep in rotting pussy, booze, and drugs."

"Screw you Ros," _Fuckwad_ countered.

"Just the thought of that makes me want to vomit," I snorted. "Oh and before you get any ideas of shooting off your fucking mouth blaming me for LT's failures you need to keep two things in mind – one, I'll sue your ass until you are homeless; and two, you know me, I won't stop there. So I'm warning you – don't push me because I won't stop pushing back until you have a gun in your mouth."

As I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, the kids face was filled with a combination of panic and begrudging respect. Okay, so I'm as arrogant as the Grey kid is because I firmly believe he should respect me for my diatribe, and his panic, well, no one knows this company like I do and I'm certain he knows it. If the brat wants me to work for him, well, he'll just have to kiss my freckled ass. "I'm out of here" I tell the kid as I pinch his cheek and head out the door. The only thing I hear as the door closes behind me is the kid bitterly swearing - _fuck!_

I knew the kid had done his homework before purchasing LT. I've avoided him for a week by partying a bit too hard, turning off my cell phone, and spending the day light hours passed out in bed. It's times like these where I'm thankful I was good at saving money and investing. I could afford to spend a year without working if I had to. Not bad for a twenty-four year old.

Guilt started moving through me on day twelve – a Friday night. The one thought that kept going through my mind during the moments when I wasn't on the prowl or getting laid was – _what if the Grey kid's plan included me in some role._ It's a logical conclusion after he'd left me ten voicemails per day and even notes slipped under my condo's door. Reluctantly, I turn on my cell phone and send him a text: _BE AT THE WILDROSE - 6 PM BRING YOUR BUSINESS PLAN AND I'LL BRING MINE – LET'S TALK_. After that, I turn my phone off again. If the kid doesn't know _The Wildrose_, Seattle's best lesbian sports bar, then he's a fucking idiot or not gay. Why meet at the _Wildrose_? Simple – to get a clear picture of the man-boy-brat that is Christian Grey. Sue me. This bitch wanted home field advantage.

The only thing I needed to do is decide what to wear. Do I wear my normal _Wildrose _attire of something clingy, slightly revealing, but androgynous or do I go balls in, hit the men's department at Neiman's and buy the same jeans and t-shirt the kid wore into the office on his big day, along with Chucks and the leather jacket from the back of my closet. Note to self: buy Aviators. Shopping it was. I wanted to push the kids buttons and see how he'd handle being mocked in a lesbian bar. _Balls in it is!_

In life you have to stack the deck in your favor whenever possible; hence the location and wardrobe for my meeting with the Grey kid. To say I spent a great deal of time over the past few years at the _Wildrose_ would be an understatement – I'm the captain of their softball team three years running. So when I asked the owner if I could tap into their security feed to watch the kid's reaction when he arrived, she readily agreed. My entry would be fashionably late. Normally I wouldn't do this but it was all about gauging the kid's reaction. I'm a Virgo. I don't do late without it being strategic. Heck, I arrive fifteen minutes or more early because nothing irks me more than lateness. Well, that's not true, stupid, ignorant, and biased piss me off more. Ironic, I know since it almost feels like I'm judging the kid based on his age. I'm not really though. I've done some homework on him and he's not your typical twenty-year old. He's not on social media of any kind, though his kid sister is and his older brother is Seattle's number one man-whore, Elliot Grey. Other than those tidbits there's not much on the web on the kid and this alone raises red flags in my warped mind.

I have to admit sitting here in the darkened parking lot waiting for the kid to arrive makes me feel like a cop on a stake out. Naturally, my mind is drawn to _Detective Olivia Benson_ on _Law & Order: SVU_. Boy, could I feast on her. _'Mind out of the pussy, Ros'_ I remind myself as the kid arrives in a late model BMW. As he gets out of the car wearing another pair of overly priced jeans and a button down shirt, he looks confused yet amazingly, like less of a douche bag. He's your typical yuppie though with his leather messenger bag around his shoulder. The video feed as he enters the bar is hilarious. His slack-jawed face is priceless as he finally realizes this isn't your standard jock's sports bar. It takes a second, but he smiles at the muscular female bouncer by the door, shrugs with embarrassment, and heads to the bar and orders a beer. I had let the bartender know he was under the legal drinking age, so she serves him a coke instead. Sue me. I'm a bitch!

To say I enjoyed shopping today is an understatement. I love fucking with people. Hell, I even went and cut my naturally long dark red hair short, just to fuck with the kid. I even styled it like his just fucked coiffure. I know that I probably went a bit too far, but I just couldn't resist. Maybe there needs to be a twelve-step program for bitches. I would go just to rock the boat until people either jump ship or are puking over the side. It would probably be as much fun as when my friend Mike and I ditched church as teenagers, stole booze from our parents liquor cabinets, got loaded, and went around to different freaky cult churches just to make fun of people, point and laugh. Good times!

After allowing him to stew for ten minutes, I make my way toward the bar with my laptop in my own personal messenger bag. He doesn't even look uncomfortable – that fucker is ruining my fun. I can't resist slapping him on the shoulder as I rudely inform him he's in my seat. When he turns to face me, his acrimonious grey eyes examine my outfit in its entirety. He then his gaze fills with humor and breaks out laughing.

"Maybe if you cut your dick off and dress in drag you'll be my type kid," I counter with a smirk.

"The attachment of my dick or lack there of is non-negotiable Miss Bailey," he replies with mock-terseness. "Besides, don't people of your persuasion occasionally utilize strap on devices?"

"It's what they are strapped to that is the issue. One hundred and seventy pounds of testosterone infused stupid isn't my thing." I motion him to follow me and we head toward a private room in the back. "I'm Ros," I officially introduce myself as I shake his hand. "I don't appreciate stupid, ignorance, and people who either don't have listening skills or who waste my time. I'm blunt, crass, hard-working, and a straight-shooter, so if you are someone whose fall I need to cushion, then I'm the wrong person for the job."

"Christian," he replies shaking my hand. "I feel as you do with regard to stupid, ignorance, blunt, etc… I hope I'm passing your test so far." He smirks respectfully at me.

"So far, but the night is young," I counter. "I know you probably know all about me since you bought the company and would be a fool to have done so without checking out upper management so it's only fair I do the same to you. Unfortunately, your online footprint is negligible, so what better way to get to know someone than by judging them based on their reactions to awkward situations." After a pause, I add, "Did you know your sister has a picture of you on her Facebook account wearing a speedo? Your sister is all kinds of hot by the way, when she comes of age let me know and I'll gladly initiate her into the lesbian sisterhood."

I watch as he sends a text. My guess it's to his sister to take the picture down. "Good luck getting her to flip sides, she's boy crazy."

"So kid, tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell. I left Harvard because I was bored and impatient. I had an idea and stumbled upon LT and knew I had to strike while the iron was hot. So I borrowed some money and made it happen. To say my parents aren't amused at my dropping out is an understatement. Right now I'm living with my idiot older brother and the harem of women who are in an out at all hours," he replies not taking his eyes from mine. "I'm not the _Fuckwad_. Love the name by the way. It's fitting from everything I've read on him. I swear you scared his balls back into his body that day. It was impressive."

"Thanks," I reply as the bartender and a server bring a pitcher of Old Rasputin Stout and two glasses into the room along with an order of loaded nachos, assorted cheese sticks and sauce, and buffalo wings. "I hope you don't mind kid, I took the liberty of ordering for us to save time."

Over dinner we share our respective visions for the company, eat dinner, make off-color remarks about the _Fuckwad_, and then order another pitcher and some shots. I have to admit, I like the kid. He's smart, driven, and most of all, disciplined. The only thing that concerns me about the kid, okay, Christian, is he's a bit too serious. Case in point – most off-color remarks came from me. It felt like his real personality was buried underneath the businessman, well, business-kid in him and wasn't allowed to come out and play. It's something we'd have to work on over time.

By eight pm we had an agreement – I'd work for what would become known as Grey Enterprise Holdings LLC as the Chief Operating Officer, while Christian would be the President and Chief Executive Officer. The kid had a vision – technology, shipping, and giving back. I not only kept my job, but also got a slight raise and if we turned a significant profit in the first year, according to Christian, five percent of GEH was mine. The last line of the movie Casablanca went through my mind, _I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship._


	2. Chapter 2: No Secrets from Sullivan

**Chapter 2 – No Secrets from Sullivan**

It's been a year since Christian Grey bought LT and we became a team. Fuck team, we were a force to be reckoned with. In that year, we've stripped the company down, split it up, and sold it to the highest bidder like a fucking slave auction. All so we can purchase four more companies – three to build up, the other to plunder like we did Lyden Technologies. I feel like a pirate riding the high seas looking for my next victim. I'd say it's awesome but the reality is awesome isn't an awesome enough word for it. It's orgasmic!

Hard work pays off. Christian and I have put in seventy plus hour weeks since day one and we've pretty much made a target list of companies we will eventually have. He pursues the larger ones, while I hunt the small-to-midsized ones. We have a list of the companies we will buy moving forward. I'd have said want, but I have to be positive, so it's only a matter of time. Christian is brilliant. I'm not slouch either, but the kid is visionary. GEH even crossed the twenty million mark in the first year and I had the honor of sitting at Christian's side as he broke the news to his parents, siblings, other family, and a few family friends.

He handled the situation better than I would have. I mean, if my father bitched at me for a year straight after dropping out of college, I would have bent him over the table and shoved the latest GEH financials up his ass for good measure. That's me – I'm a god unholy bitch. Not Christian. The now twenty-one year old has the control of an old seasoned businessman.

His family members are interesting. His father is a wealthy, prestigious lawyer – which in my mind makes him an arrogant prick. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree now, does it? His mother is a prominent pediatrician. Christian says she's a saint. From my experience, saints are the best in the bedroom because you bring that wall down and their inner freak comes exploding out of them. I'm banking on Grace knowing her way around a penis. The day I said that to Christian, he just about threw me out of his office while I laughed at him.

Mia is adorable but needs to be sent to a convent, as she's boy crazy. Elliot, the family whore, well, he and I stayed after that family dinner at a bar and compared cell phone pictures side-by-side of our conquests. In the end, the score was Ros 1 – Elliot 0, as I'd had about ten of his women before he did. He claimed I turned them, to which I replied, _Go fuck yourself Elliot, some women like having both orifices filled and since you aren't big enough to fill the front one, your teeny weeny peeny needs to enter through the back door._ We even compared oral techniques to maximize our partner's vaginal pleasure. I am the Jedi Master and he is my apprentice. Christian wasn't amused, but fuck him. I fucking adore Elliot. He's like me – bat shit crazy, smart, and a free spirit in every sense of the word. Christian could take lessons from him.

Christian's mom's best friend is this peroxide blonde Elena Lincoln. Honestly, I just don't get it. Grace is a saint and Elena is just creepy as all fuck. How the hell does someone like Grace get to be friends with the embodiment of malevolent? And Christian really seems to like this woman too? Am I missing something or is Christian fucking the bitch? She looks good for her age, so who knows, maybe the kid has mommy issues from before he was adopted and he deals with it that way. I know he's not gay, regardless of the rumors that Elliot perpetuates and his family believes. I see how he looks at women, brunettes in particular. His eyes when he sees a petite brunette are like those of a starving kid being handed a McDonald's Happy Meal.

I've learned a great deal about Christian in the past year – he's a control-freak extraordinaire; he's a visionary; he needs to play more; and I'm one of two people who can fuck with him, Elliot is the other. Oh, and he desperately needs to get laid. In the year I've known him, he hasn't been on a single date. Not one. Not male. Not female. Like what the fuck? If I don't get laid every few days, I'm an unforgiving bitch.

For Christian's twenty-first birthday I sent him a portable, cow milking machine so he could get some relief. He fired me that day, so I went out with Elliot to a nightclub, partied, laughed, and we both picked up women for a long weekend of kinky fun. I wasn't surprised when my phone rang at seven a.m. on Monday morning and all I heard was Christian bitching because I wasn't at work yet. See, he loves me in his own fucked up way, and I love him. He still needs to get laid.

By the time I got into the office that morning, we went right to work and didn't address Friday. Victory is mine! There really wasn't a need. We spent more hours together than most married couples, so we knew each other. Needless to say, when the afternoon came and I hired three petite brunette prostitutes to show up at his office to tie him down and pleasure him, well, he wasn't amused, though little Christian's attention wasn't missed by anyone. Okay, so little Christian clearly wasn't that little. "Christian, if you want your real birthday present, well, you're going to have to select one of the girls, put your hand down her little pants and pull out your prize. And before you ask, it's not a tampon – that would be disgusting."

Christian never did anything that you'd expect. I never in a million years expected him to reach into the pussy-jar for the prize, but he did after he made each girl sign a non-disclosure agreement that he magically pulled out of his ass. Okay, so it was from his desk, but what the fuck Grey – an NDA is always at the tip of his fingers. I have to admit, he was thrilled with his season tickets to the Seahawks, but passed on the women. Me? Well, I took them home with me, called Elliot and offered him one, though he tried to take two in my guest room. It was a long, wonderful night other than hearing Elliot's fucking going on in the guest room, but then again, I'm sure he and half of Seattle heard mine as well. _Good fucking times!_

GEH had grown fast that first year, with us now having a Human Resources Director, a new IT Director, and another ten employees in our corporate offices. Christian and I shared an Administrative Assistant, Maggie, who we were working into an early grave. If we made the next few acquisitions we'd planned, the GEH team would have to grow significantly. We'd also have to review our current staff and replace anyone who was underperforming. In my mind it was our IT Director. He agreed and assigned our HR Director the task of coming up with a shortlist of acceptable candidates. I scoffed at the idea, but he insisted I be patient.

HR came up with a list of resumes from people who graduated MIT, Harvard, Caltech, and even my old alma mater, Stanford. The final four looked like a bunch of dweebs. After interviewing them, Christian and I glanced at each other and muttered, _fucking wannabe nerds_ and laughed.

"So what do you want to do Ros?" Christian asked. I could tell he already had a plan of action in his mind, so this was just his way of seeing if we are once again on the same wavelength.

"This babe I fucked around with at Stanford" I started, causing Christian to raise an eyebrow at me, so I corrected myself, "of the many babes I fucked around with at Stanford and beyond, there was one in particular, who wasn't a good lay by the way but had curves that you couldn't ignore, had a little brother Barney who was about thirteen or so. This kid kept getting in trouble for hacking into different companies and government websites just to see if he could. The kid was a computer genius. Not much personality to him but put him in front of a keyboard and he was Rainman. Special kids, like Barney, are grabbed by the Microsoft's of the world or our illustrious government, because they don't see limits, only puzzles without the moral ambiguity those assholes who graduate the MITs of the world have. Barney must be in his late teens by now. I want to say we need someone like him – a go getter, who will love what he does, develop programs no one else will have, and in terms of IT security well, there's pride in not allowing other hackers in."

Christian's face remained unchanged, as it always did when he was pondering an issue. Finally, after what felt like forever, his eyes met mine and he smirked. "What's this Barney kid doing now?"

"No clue, but I can reach out and find out. We can bring him up for an interview and see. Keep in mind, if we hire someone like Barney, we'll need to expand our IT budget, as someone like him will insist on the best equipment or he'll build it himself."

A week later, Christian and I sat in his office awaiting the arrival of seventeen-year old Barney Sullivan. Frankly, I didn't know what to expect, as his sister was hot, yet the most inhibited bitch on the face of the earth. I mean, I get it, sometimes with high intelligence something has to be sacrificed and in her case it was sexuality and some personality, so I was naturally curious about her little brother.

The gaudy kid who walked through the door a minute later was unexpected. He was taller than Christian, and that's saying something as he's almost six-two and I'm five-nine. Barney had to be six-four, brown hair, and desperately in need of a sandwich. I glanced over at Christian, who was already pulling out the file folder from his desk where he kept the take out menus. The kid couldn't weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds. He was your typical geeky kid, minus the glasses and lacking the acne. There was something about his blue eyes that left me feeling he was otherworldly and his brain was always working on a puzzle of some sort. His outfit screamed Geek Squad – khaki's and a polo shirt, though he pointed out that suit and tie were optional, but he pulled a red bow tie from his pocket and informed us he brought it just in case.

We introduced ourselves, found out when he turned eighteen, and asked him about his hobbies. The kid had no real work experience, though he admitted to fantasize being the Chief Science Officer on the Starship Enterprise one day. Christian looked at me as if I was out of my mind bringing Barney in for an interview. Frankly, I was feeling the same way – out of my fucking mind.

"So Barney," I asked hoping to steer the conversation onto something business related, "what is your biggest IT accomplishment in your mind."

When he blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl, I dreaded his answer. "I've worked with a network of hackers to reroute luxury food shipments to poor areas in Africa, Asia, and South America. It felt like the moral thing to do."

I sighed with relief when I glanced over at Christian and he had a broad smile on his face. "What else have you accomplished Barney?" he asked.

Barney became a bit introspective for a minute before replying, "I've hacked into companies who I thought were less than above board and leaked sensitive company emails that caused some legal issues for them. I've also run detailed background checks on people."

"How detailed?" Christian asked. I almost felt like he was panicking.

Barney smiled distantly. "Well I know all about both of you."

"What do you mean Barney? What do you know about us?" I asked. My life was pretty much an open book. Christian knew just about everything there was to know about me.

"Just the basics – school, upbringing, bank balances, legal files, and the … um… well never mind the rest," he blushes. "You two are peas in a pod, but I'm surprised you haven't murdered each other yet to see who is dominant."

In a split second, Christian had an NDA in front of Barney insisting that he sign it. The kid did so without even reading it. "You know what you just signed?" Christian asked. I knew after Barney left, Christian and I were going to be having a conversation neither one of us wanted or expected to ever have.

"An NDA, which means shut up Barney," he replied distantly.

"So Barney, what can you bring GEH as its IT Director?" I ask.

We watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out two thumb drives and hands them to Christian. "Systems that are more secure than you currently have. It took me all of ten minutes to download all of your confidential documents and throw them onto these thumb drives. Your current IT person is crap. Plus I can integrate all of your current and future companies, but to do it right will require an investment on GEH's part to upgrade equipment."

"When can you start?" Christian asked.

Barney merely shrugged and gazed out the window. Christian ordered him to be here two weeks from Monday ready to start but before he left, Maggie, our assistant would walk him around the building to check out our current computers and servers, so we could ensure he had everything he needed on his first day of work.

A minute later Barney was gone and Christian locked the door to his office. This was going to be an interesting conversation, so I figured I would start. I reached out to shake his hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Grey. They call me Mistress Vermillion. I assure you all of my actions are consensual, legal, and highly enjoyable for all parties." I couldn't help but smirk at him.

"Fuck!" he muttered before pulling out a bottle of scotch from his cabinet and two shot glasses. We each down a shot, though if I'm not mistaken, he took two.

Even after two shots, he didn't know what to say, so I asked, "Consensual, legal and safe?"

He nodded before taking another shot.

"Contractual like mine?" I asked.

Again he nodded.

"Female like mine?" I smirked.

He smirked back.

"All brunettes?"

He nodded.

"I have a thing for blondes. For me it's about control. When I'm in a shit storm I need it," I mumble. "Don't get me wrong, on an average day I'm the queen of kink, but there are times when more is needed by both parties. Now pull out two of your NDA's so we can sign away our voices and be done with this conversation once and for all."

He laughs as we both sign off on our NDAs. I'd never seen a more panicked look on a persons face than was on his at this moment. It was fucking hilarious. "Who knows Christian, one day you and I can expand upon the discussion I had with Elliot about how to pleasurably stimulate lady parts."

"Fuck you Ros," he chuckled. "Trust me, I know all about stimulating lady parts and then some."


	3. Chapter 3: Bloody Fucking Saturday

**Chapter 3 – Bloody Fucking Saturday**

The addition of Barney Sullivan just over a year ago was the smartest thing we ever did. Since then, we've gone into every acquisition with our eyes open and then some. The tall, gangly kid was a magician behind the keyboard. We knew the good, the bad, and the ugly. In our first year after Barney, or AB, we grew GEH well over two hundred percent. At this rate Christian would be a billionaire by twenty- three and I was already worth millions, between owning five percent of the company and my salary.

To celebrate, both Christian and I decided to buy upscale condos. We each spent a week looking and ironically we purchased penthouses on buildings right across from each other. Naturally I called Christian a stalker because I dropped the deposit on mine first before he purchased the top two unfinished floors of Escala. The kid had expensive taste. I knew that, but Escala was still under construction and he bought a shell of two floors to do whatever he wanted to them.

GEH now had two hundred employees in Seattle and another ten thousand around the globe. People were talking about Christian. Magazines wanted to interview him. Women wanted to fuck him. He always received his fair share of female attention, but now it was out of hand. Since the articles on GEH, Christian, and I appeared in Business Week and Fox Business we've been inundated with requests, which we've declined. Hell, Christian was even voted most eligible bachelor in Seattle. I teased the fuck out of him over that, and so did Elliot. We even had a pedestal delivered to his office so he can stand on it like a statue of Adonis. Needless to say, he wasn't amused. Good fucking times, though he still needed to loosen up.

In the world of mergers and acquisitions there are always winners, losers, and survivors. The winners were those who purchased the companies and either brought them back to life or scavenged them for any profit they could turn as they busted them down to the cellular level. The losers were those whose bids weren't accepted, and the survivors were the previous owners who sold before going under financially. The advantage GEH had was simple – we wanted to bring most of the companies back to life and maintain the good employees. When that wasn't possible and we broke companies apart and sold off divisions, we did our best to find roles for their brightest people at GEH. We'd kick the average and underperformers to the curb with severance and initiated the hardworking gifted into our world. It made GEH strong.

In some ways, Christian and I were young and stupid. Well, at least we were when it came to our own fucking security. GEH was renting two floors and a penthouse suite of a nice office high rise. All of our employees had secure underground parking and our floors each had a separate reception area. The building lobby even had it's own reception area and building issued security. We thought that would be enough. As I said – we were stupid. The world of M&A can get dirty. Hell, it does most of the time when playing at the level we were playing. We were involved in our biggest acquisition yet with a potential of five hundred million dollars leaving the GEH coffers, but the potential gain of billions of dollars if we did the right things once we secured the company.

All the big boys were after KT International Shipping, but we had the inside track. To say it got ugly was an understatement. Barney had warned us that for a few of the larger M&A companies, this was sink-or-swim for them. Many weren't happy with GEH, or more specifically us, as we'd beaten them to the punch over the past year and a half on other acquisitions, thereby wasting many of their expensive man-hours. That coupled with their poor investment choices, which we investigated but never targeted because the potential wasn't there. I've said it before, Christian was a visionary and the industry took notice.

M&A companies are like pirates, sometimes scavengers, looking for our next bounty. It can get ugly and this half a billion-dollar deal was like nothing we'd ever seen. After the first incident, where both of our cars were vandalized in the GEH underground lot and threats left if we didn't back down, we hired a head of security, Michael Welch, but goes by just Welch after spending twenty-five years in the military. The guy is fiftyish, all muscle, and for his age, incredibly computer savvy. Within days of beginning his position, he arranged a separate section of the parking garage exclusively for GEH that includes an additional level of security, including a guard. He also moves the level-two reception area to join the first level, added construction and an upgraded key card system so no one gets past them. In order to access the inner workings of level one, two, or the penthouse office they need to go to our reception. In order to get to the first level, they need to go through the front desk security person hired by Welch. By the end of his first week, I can't help but feel all of our employees feel better about our safety.

Christian and I enjoyed watching Barney crack through Welch's system in a matter of hours before putting in his own patches to it making it more secure. Tell Barney he can't do something and it's like waving a flag before a stubborn, emaciated bull. Barney fit right in, quiet, yet put him in front of a keyboard and he was irreverent, witty, sarcastic, and creative. Pull the keyboard away and he was quiet and awkward. Like us, the kid worked hard and was rewarded for his hard work. How many people, about to turn twenty could say they were earning a quarter of a million dollars per year plus bonuses?

When Barney heard about Christian and I buying penthouses, he offered to install the security in conjunction with Welch. This would ensure limited people had knowledge of the security measures. Needless to say, we agreed. Hell, Christian even created a division of GEH for personal security, called Grey Executive Protection, which Welch and Barney helped grow and staff. It was a brilliant move that cost us nothing other than the incorporation paperwork, as we had the team to build it already on staff and Welch knew many ex-military to fill the security pool as needed.

Little did we know it wouldn't be more than a month after we acquired KT International Shipping that we'd need to utilize our own security company. The threats continued during the bidding process, but more so surrounding Christian. He laughed off the repeated vandalism of his car, which occurred not just at work but also at his apartment. His laughter ended the day someone left a mutilated animal on the front seat with a note stapled into it stating he was next. That very day Welch hired an old friend of his to protect Christian twenty-four seven and another one to watch over me.

Jason Taylor was placed in charge of Christian's personal security. The guy was six-three, all muscle, reddish blonde hair, and just plain fierce looking. The term bad ass comes to mind. It was good that Elliot's crew had finished the Escala penthouse two months ago. Christian was living in a ten thousand square foot apartment with it's own private elevator and a housekeeper who cooked took care of him. Jason Taylor was the latest addition to the staff wing of the apartment.

My personal protection was a gal named Jayna LeFeaux, or as I called her, LeFuck; and I did. Sue me. She was a tall, hot, blonde who was ready, willing and more than able. Even Elliot was jealous – I had live in pussy, she was quite flexible and good with a gun. It was a win-win for me. Those months where Christian made me feel like we were under siege were spectacularly kinky. After all, Jayna was fresh out of the military and horny as hell.

Six months after the acquisition with security in tow, Christian was now a billionaire and being lauded as Seattle's hottest thing since Bill Gates. The mayor himself held a gala in honor of Christian and GEH at the Fairmont Olympic. It was his official, meet and greet in the Seattle business world. We thought it was stupid, but we reluctantly attended. The main reason we attended was simple, there would be other billionaires in attendance, so it gave Christian a chance to do the meet and greet, Taylor the opportunity to discuss security with others in his position, and me, well I got to listen in on conversations to see where we could potentially invest.

It as an elegant affair, but we knew it had to be as the mayor himself was always looking for donors to his charitable projects and kissing Christian's ass might line his charities pockets. To my surprise, I was seated at a round table next to Christian, his parents, and his siblings. Thankfully Elliot was sitting to my left, while Christian was to my right. Elliot would make this snooze-fest less boring or so I thought. Apparently his parents kept glaring at him him every time he started to get out of line. I snickered repeatedly though inwardly I missed the maniac that is Elliot Grey.

The mayor made a boring speech about Christian. Clearly the only thing he was interested in was his bank account. I was up next to actually do Christian's introduction; after all, in the business world there wasn't anyone who knew him better. I was actually going to enjoy this, I remember thinking as I stood before the podium.

"Good evening everyone and welcome. As you might know, I'm Ros Bailey, COO of Grey Enterprise Holdings and the keeper of all of Christian's deepest darkest business secrets," I laugh as I stare down at Christian. I can't tell if he's nervous or not, but what the heck, I'm going for it. "One of my favorite days ever was the day I met twenty-year old Christian Grey when he walked into Lyden Technologies as the new owner. I want you to imagine this punk kid, a Harvard drop-out who still smelled of baby powder swaggering into the place and beginning the process of setting it right. I remember thinking, what an arrogant prick." Everyone including Christian laughed. "He cut to the chase quickly, thinning the herd one by one. When he got to me, I walked before he could play Donald Trump. What can I say, I like throwing people off balance and well, when a kid walks in that is clearly a control freak, well, nothing is more fun than screwing with him.

"We played telephone and text tag for the better part of two weeks," I continued, but Christian interrupted.

"You avoided me for two weeks Ros, then sent my ass to a lesbian sports bar and showed up dressed exactly like me, hair and all, just to screw with me," he grinned. "Best day ever."

I couldn't help but smile back at him. "We spent a few hours at that bar talking business and what he hoped to accomplish. I was all of twenty-four and he was twenty. Together we wanted to take on the world. There was no missing that this kid was a visionary. We worked hard and followed his vision. Over the past few years I've learned a great deal from 'the boss'. I've probably spent more time with him than anyone during that time and I have to say, it's been a wild and fulfilling ride in the M&A world. People frequently ask me what the kid is like. I've used worlds like intense, forward-thinking, prolific, and sometimes asshole to describe him. All fit him perfectly. Yet, they aren't enough. Christian Grey is one of a kind. No one works harder than he does. The man never stops, whether it's about his business or his charitable ventures. He's dedicated, caring, and most of all, sometimes a major asshole. In other words, he's just plain awesome. I will admit that I would love to see him get the stick out of his ass and act his age, but what can I say, inside the hot twenty three year old body is the soul of a fifty-year old businessman. Knowing Christian as I do, I can tell you that the best is yet to come."

I raise my glass and everyone joins me, "It is my pleasure to introduce Christian Trevelyan-Grey, my favorite visionary asshole and boss! God broke the mold when he made him or at the very least threw it away when little Christian came out glaring at him and babbled about a hostile takeover."

Christian rolled his eyes at me when he took joined me at the podium. Mockingly, he wrapped his hands around my throat and glared at me, before informing the crowd that GEH was a beast with two sphincters. When I took my seat, Elliot hugged me, while his parents merely smiled politely. God, now I knew where the stick in Christian's ass came from.

"I was very fortunate in my life," Christian began. "I have great parents, wonderful siblings, and of course Ros. GEH today wouldn't be where it was without the outrageous Ros Bailey. She gripes that I'm too serious, while I gripe that she's too over the top. Together we balance each other out nicely in the business world. I fire Ros every year on my birthday, but she shows back up the next day. She's like a cockroach. You can't get rid of her, nor would I want to.

"GEH is a company. I might be the owner but the reality is, it's the hardworking staff at GEH that have made it what it is today. I'm fortunate to lead a team, with Ros an amazing second, that really needs little-to-no leadership. While I accept this honor, I do so in the names of all of the GEH staff because without them, the exponential growth and success of GEH would never have happened. So on behalf of the dedicated GEH staff, I thank you."

It was a typical Christian speech – short, boring, yet noble. We spent the rest of the evening doing the meet and greet. Amazingly I was offered a few jobs along the way, all of which I declined. GEH was my home. Say what you want about me, but I'm loyal until you screw me over. I could never imagine Christian screwing me over. It's not his way, just like it's not his way to bribe people behind the scenes either. He's straightforward and I appreciate that.

All in all, it wasn't a bad night until we were leaving and heading toward our cars. As usual, Taylor and LeFeaux led the way, with Christian, his family, and I following. Trailing two-dozen feet behind us was an additional security guy named Sawyer, dressed in a tuxedo, unlike the rest of the team. He spent the evening at another table to ours as an _undercover_ _guest_. He looked like any other businessman there – handsome, well read, knowledgeable, and amusing. Christian and I knew who he was, but I can guarantee no one else did.

My memories of the parking lot incident are sketchy at best. I remember two cars pulling in near us quickly and the gunmen getting out of them. Christian's parents, brother and sister were already in their cars, but we were still exposed. I remember being grabbed, as was Christian. I remember gunfire and waking up a day later at the hospital with Christian sitting at a chair at my bedside looking like crap.

From what I was told, LeFeaux took a shot to the shoulder after taking one of them down. Taylor took another two guys down but not before Christian was knocked unconscious by one of them. And Sawyer took the other two down, after I was chloroformed and shot in the side.

This is the day Christian and I refer to as – _Bloody Fucking Saturday_. The day our personal freedoms ended in a sea of security. Security at GEH quadrupled. Christian and I had additional security. It drove me crazy, but then part of me was relieved. To say this episode fucked with my head would be an understatement. LeFeaux quit and moved back to New Orleans. Sawyer ended up on Christian's permanent detail. I had two CPOs, Edwards and Milton, alternating after hours. One of them got me to work, the other picked me up and took me home. I guess you can call it a time for re-evaluating my life, because nothing will make you do that more than a near death experience and my life was all kinds of fucked up. It was time for crazy ass Ros to grow up, though Elliot tried to convince me otherwise.

One night, I insisted on stopping at a small local bookstore, as one of my favorite authors was signing their latest release. Edwards wasn't happy about the detour, but fuck him and I insisted. It was the best detour I ever made, because there, standing next to the author, was her editor and friend. A bubbly blonde named Gwen Allen and fuck if she didn't knock my socks off.


	4. Chapter 4: Failed Sexual Acrobatics

**Chapter 4 –Sexual Acrobatics**

All of my life I've known who I am. Most girls grow up with crushes on boy bands, teen actors, and the like, having posters all over their bedroom walls. Not me. I vividly remember having posters of Monica Bellucci, Winona Rider, and Lucy Lawless taped to the ceiling over my bed. Heck, Lucy Lawless was my number one fantasy girl. I knew who I was early on. I wanted to be Xena Warrior Princess and have my way with Gabrielle.

The one thing I hated growing up were people with bubbly personalities. It always felt like they were that way to hide a dark, candy center. The bubblier they were, the darker the center. It meant they were fake, untrustworthy, and under it all, the most fucked up. Christian and I both felt this way. Heck, in many ways, Christian and I were like twins as we shared the same thoughts on many things.

One night we got drunk in the office after closing a big deal. We compared notes in terms of our personalities, and then he panicked telling me he was adopted and rambled on and on that maybe we were siblings. Yeah, we were really shitfaced that night. He had Taylor go out, get DNA test kits and more booze, and sent them out to make himself feel better. I knew I wasn't related to Christian. I mean, I knew who my biological parents were because they raised me, where they came from, and had an entire family history dating back hundreds of years. It's not a hard thing to do when you are Scottish. We keep track of our clans. He almost seemed disappointed when the results came back negative. My response: you still can't fuck me. Then we laughed.

Back to my girl - Gwen Allen is effervescent, kind, honest, vivacious, high-spirited, and underneath it all, she had a sense of humor that was as fucked up and twisted as mine. There was nothing fake or dishonest about her. I'd say I was wrong, but I'm like _Fonzie_ from _Happy Days_ – I just can't say it. Gwen is petite, blonde, beautiful, intelligent, and perfect in every way. Yeah, I know, I have it bad. Fuck you for pointing it out. Sometimes I hate my self-conscience. She was also quite adventurous in the sack, so we hit it off immediately and never looked back.

What I liked most was the fact that she was meek yet bubbly when you first meet her, then bat shit crazy when you got to know her. Of the two of us, she was the more mature one. She'd moved back to Seattle from New York nearly a year before when her parents were in a horrific accident and needed care. She kept editing books for Harper Collins from her parent's home. The day I met her, she'd finally moved into her own place a few weeks before, as her parents were back up and on their feet. She didn't live more than a few blocks from me.

Our first few weeks of dating consisted of time at the _Wildrose_, since we were both big sports fans, dinners, museums, and exploring the numerous adult boutiques scattered around Seattle. Hell, Gwen even created her own anonymous web site for lesbians reviewing different boutique products for lesbians. Trust me when I say, we tried them all and in every way possible; hence Ros's first rule when it comes to sex swings – always have a padded area to fall onto when your kinky ass is getting it's freak on, because inevitably you'll try to do something on it that it wasn't meant for and when you fall, break your nose, hand, arm, and wrist plus show up to work with six stitches in your head and a concussion, you either think of a good explanation fast or are forced to tell Christian the truth.

I've learned a basic math truth: hung over Ros + pain meds = not thinking fast on her feet. It was bad enough having to try to find an explanation to give Christian the next day, but the fact that fucking Elliot was in the office with the final plans for the Grey House building that was going to start going up meant that I would never, ever be able to live this down. Naturally Christian picks this time to finally act his age. I wanted to crawl into a cabinet and just die. It's a day that will live in infamy, never to be forgotten.

I woke up the morning after freak fest with a hangover to end all hangovers. The only sick days I'd taken in my entire working career were after I was shot a few months ago. I thought I would go insane sitting in my apartment with nothing to do. The first few weeks at home were the worst – pain meds, being uncomfortable, and not thinking clearly sucked. Christian popped in nightly to see if I needed anything, and had his housekeeper, Mrs. Gail Jones, pulling double-duty as chief cook and bottle-washer at my place and his. She's awesome and banging Jason Taylor. If I swung that way, I'd bang him too. Beneath his _CPO, I don't take shit from no one, badass exterior_, which is all most people see, resides a caring, hilarious, well-read, trustworthy, asshole, and I consider him a brother. When Welch stepped up as head of Grey Protective Services, Taylor stepped up to run the day-to-day Grey House security, on top of being over all of the CPOs surrounding Christian, his family, and me. I couldn't help but wonder if today would be the day Christian saw the other side of Taylor's personality, or if Taylor would just sit in the background with his boss while Elliot raked me over the coals over my accident.

There are lessons to be learned from my stupidity:

**Lesson number 1****:** _Never attempt bedroom acrobatics after seeing a Pink concert. She makes acrobatics look easy, yet it's not. It's fucking dangerous to combine a sex swing, sex toys, and silk acrobatic gear without a safety net, head protection, and careful planning. Gwen was lucky. She landed on top of me. She had a soft, squishy, boobalicious landing. So other than a few bruises that can be hidden by clothing, her pretty face was spared, though I did have an unexpected bite mark on my right boob along with some bruising from her spectacular landing._

**Lesson number 2****:** _Don't ever get home from six hours in the emergency room, high as a kite on pain medications, and start drinking._ _Really – don't do it. Gwen now has blackmail material on me for decades._

**Lesson number 3****:** _During a post-concussion drunken evening, and one, always sleep with a garbage pail next to your bed; and two, don't eat Taco Bell and a 7-Eleven Slurpee on the way home from the ER. Enough said on that one. Let your imaginations and color palates run wild. Note to self: order new bedroom carpet._

**Lesson number 4****:** _Never EVER and I mean NEVER EVER forget about or neglect personal security. They placed me on the ambulance stretcher, followed me to the hospital, and helped me back home, then filled my prescriptions. It was an incident, so they filed a report. Fucking control freak Christian Grey and his rules! Next time I need to remember to pay off the security team before heading to the ER._

**Lesson number 5****:** _Never let Christian and Elliot see that they are getting to you. Elliot will never stop and Christian will enact his revenge for all the crazy shit you've done to him over the years._

Needless to say, I was screwed before I even snuck in the door to GEH early that morning. I normally arrived around seven, but to avoid everyone I arrived at six and locked myself away in my office. If they thought I was busy, they'd leave my sorry ass alone. I needed the time to get my story straight. So here I sat, carefully plotting and planning as I stared blankly at my computer. An appointment pop-up reminder interrupted my thoughts:

_**Appointment Subject:**__ Grey House – Final Blueprint Review before construction._

_**Time:**__ 7:30 am_

_**Place:**__ Christian's Office_

_**Attendees:**__ Christian Grey, Ros Bailey, Elliot Grey, and Jason Taylor_

_**15 minutes until meeting commences**_

Fuck! The meeting was moved up from this afternoon. I was so screwed. I thought I had a few hours to get my story straight and at least try to get myself looking presentable. Right now, I look like shit and that's being polite. No amount of concealer is going to hide two black eyes, though I'll give it my best shot. Nothing is going to hide the swelling around my nose. I'm just grateful it was a minor fracture and didn't leave me looking like Owen Wilson.

It's times like this I wish I was a guy. They don't have to wear fucking make up, or bras, or spend any real time on their hair in the morning. I mean take Christian for example, he rolls out of bed, hit the shower, shave, throws on tighty whities, I imagine anyway, and a suit before running his hands through his hair and he's off to begin his day. Lucky bastard. And me? Shower and shave the old legs, body cream, moisturizer, bra and panties, business suit, tights on occasion, power heels, twenty minutes or more to get fucking make up on, then another thirty to get my hair perfect. That doesn't even include the time I have to spend getting my nails done and certain other parts regularly plucked, buffed, and polished. Fuck socially expected norms! If I were a dude, being smart would just about be enough.

After fifteen minutes of plotting and planning, I decide to go to the meeting without make up, my hair not up to its usual standards, and stoned off my ass on pain medication. I'm going for the sympathy vote. Maybe if I look like shit, they'll have mercy on my soul and not taunt me too much. By now, I have no doubt that Taylor has the whole story and probably shared. Hence the meeting time change. I figure I'm fucked either way, so I get off my sorry ass, groan as I get to my feet and head toward Christian's mausoleum-like bat cave.

As I passed Laura, our shared personal assistant, I could see the look of sympathy on her face as I approached the door. "It's going to suck, isn't it?" I couldn't help but ask her as I rub my temples. No amount of painkillers is going to take away this headache or the body aches. I tell my inner bitch to just grin and bare it. After all, over the years I'd fucked with the brothers Grey and more recently Taylor until I laughed so hard I thought my heart would explode. The shit I did was definitely not workplace appropriate and so worth it. What goes around comes around, so I'm probably fucked.

"Most definitely," was her smirking response. Laura had given her notice a week ago. She was moving to Los Angeles to marry her actor boyfriend of three years. I'd miss her once she was gone. We had three weeks to find a suitable replacement, maybe two as between Christian and I we'd driven her nuts over the last year or so.

I take one final deep breath, which makes me feel nauseated, before I push the door opened. Christian, Elliot, and Taylor are sitting around the meeting table in the corner of Christian's office with the Grey House plans spread out before them. All conversation stops as they turn toward me. The borderline grins that had been on their faces dropped at the sight of me. This was the reaction I was going for.

"Good morning," I muttered and slowly made my way to the table to join them.

"God, you look like shit. How are you feeling?" Christian asked with concern as he grabs his phone and sends a text.

"Just golden."

"After this meeting, I'll have someone take you home. Consider yourself off for the rest of the week," Christian orders. I know that tone of voice, there's no arguing with him. It's the same tone he used on me when I walked into the office two weeks after I got out of the hospital after the shooting.

"So how do the plans look?" I ask

"Rough night Ros? Good thing you have Gwen because no woman in their right mind would take you now," Elliot comments trying to hold back his smirk.

"More stupid ones for you then," I counter. "They are the only type you can get after all."

"Christian and I got you a gift." Christian pulls an envelope from his pocket, while Elliot pulls a large gift- wrapped package from the nearby closet. It's a massive box that I greet with trepidation. I glance over to Taylor, who is struggling to not smile and failing miserably. _Dumbass_. I can't help but just stare at the box.

"Aren't you going to open it Ros?" Christian asks. "It's not polite to receive a gift and not open it."

My mind is racing. I got back from the ER last night around eleven p.m. so in the roughly eight hours or so since then, how much prep time could they have had. This has got to be something lame, so I decide to open it we can move on with business.

With help from Elliot, I unwrap the box. I'm a natural leftie, so with my left arm, wrist, and hand broken, in a cast, and supported by a sling, doing anything, including wiping my own ass, is a challenge. It fucking sucks the big cannoli. When I pull the top off the box, I fearfully look inside. The first thing I see is a ton of frou-frou, pastel-colored paper with an envelope sitting on top. When I open it, I pull out the contract for an additional million dollars in life insurance that covers hazardous sexual activity and it even includes samples of these activities with drawings. I'll hand it to them its two women doing it in each and every sketch. I can't help but blush at the last drawing or two women, one who looks like me, while the other resembles Gwen harnessed up and ready for action. I can't help it. I laugh.

"You three are such fuckers. I adore you!"

They have the nerve to laugh at me. Taylor pulls a thumb drive from the breast pocket of his suit and hands it to me. "Turn the security camera in your apartment off next time you use your library for extracurricular activities. Also, don't be surprised if the security team can't look you in the eyes for a few days."

"Oh fuck," is all I can mutter over and over in shock. The three of them busted out laughing hysterically. Me? Well, yeah, it was amusing, embarrassing, yet I'm still stoned and in a bit of stunned surprise as they make their smart ass remarks at my expense. I only caught parts of them but I'll give you a few examples – _grace of a drunken baby on roller skates; your tattooed ass looks bigger on screen; Gwen is all type of hot; boobs – real or fake, let the debate begin; Christian wanting to use clips as a promotional video for a new company of sex toy assistance videos and what not to do; and, my personal favorite, you definitely nailed the landing._

Christian pushes an envelope toward me with a smirk on his face. "It's a gift certificate for new curtain or blinds - your choice. I'm betting it was quite the show for many at Escala since one of the security cameras from my patio caught a glimpse of your late afternoon sport."

"Fuck!" is still all I can mutter.

"And those fuckers wouldn't let me put it on the web, so you owe them," Elliot fake-pouted.

As I continue rummaging through the box, with Elliot's help, I find: a new sex swing with extra harnesses; dozens of kinkier lesbian sex toys; a video with gift certificate for acrobatic training for both Gwen and I; a sample of a gymnastics matt with a gift certificate attached for a large one; and, first aid ice packs with instructions for where to place it if I take another fall like that again.

"Ice packs?" I ask and they bust out laughing.

"For next time you fall while playing hide the dildo," Elliot laughs hysterically as he pulls the last item from the box – a one-foot by three-foot picture frame with nine four-by-six portrait oriented pictures of the glorious event so it's like watching a cartoon cell-by-cell. Each picture, though humorous, thankfully doesn't reveal any clear visual of our asses, boobs, or pussies.

"I actually think this is my favorite gift ever. You guys are so over the top," I laugh causing my head to pound unmercifully. "It's going in my bedroom. It's embarrassing as all hell, but awesome. It's almost as bad as you took those three babes home Elliot and they handcuffed you to the bed, screwed you senseless, then left you there and I had to come release you."

"Good times Ros, good times," he laughed, while Christian and Taylor looked at him in shock. "Next time you lend me some of your kink-cuffs, remember to give me the keys upfront."

* * *

**Readers & Writers Unite – Embrace your inner Ros and be bat shit crazy!**


	5. Chapter 5: Zumba

**Chapter 5 - Zumba**

In this world there are many different types of people. Me? Well, like Elliot Grey, I'm the over the top, sow my oats until I drop kind of person. We're fun loving, yet contrary to popular belief have a serious side. Hell, everyone has dark recesses to their mind, though sometimes I wonder about Elliot. In some ways, heck, many ways, he's too pure. I know he never thought anyone would describe him as such, but if you push his sex life aside where he's anything butt pure, get it, butt not but pure, the rest of him is pure. He works hard, avoids any type of legal trouble, and is just an all around great guy. There's no darkness in him that I've seen over the years I've known him.

Me? Well, yeah, I have a dark side. You would too if you were raised by ultra religious parents who didn't approve of your openly same sex attraction. It made my teenage years interesting, which then turned me off organized religion altogether but that's another story for another day. It did however make me driven. Why you ask? First and foremost, to shove it in my parents faces – I mean, who wouldn't want to do it under those circumstances. My childhood idols said it best, so I'll highjack and change their turn of phrase. They said, _'I love being a turtle'_ and I say _'I love being a bitch.' _Sue me, I may be twenty-seven years old but whenever Vanilla Ice sings _GO NINJA GO NINJA GO_ my sorry ass will get up and dance every time – no booze required. The other reason I worked so hard at school and beyond was simple: I vowed to never depend on them for anything. Hence my hard work through high school to get a free ride to Stanford. Perfect SAT and ACT scores also helped.

It seems Christian corned the market on dark in his family. His kid sister Mia is anything but dark. His parents either – stodgy might be a better word, but dark, nope. His mother is a fucking saint. His father is a rich lawyer – enough said. Okay, I'll admit it I'm not a huge fan of lawyers. Why you ask? I knew this chick from high school. She was smart with the best natural rack I'd ever seen. She was also kind, ethical, and wanted to save the world. Everyone was an equal she used to say. That was until she went to an Ivy League law school. In less than a few months at the Indiana school, which shall remain nameless, she came back for Christmas holidays spewing shit that most people don't want it bad enough to succeed. While I would admit that yes, on this earth, there are some people who fit that description, it's not most. She came back a pompous, egomaniacal, asshole and anyone who knows me will tell you – I loathe them. Okay, or I work for them.

Back to Christian. I adore that man and his darkness, but I worry about him as I would a little brother. He works too hard and doesn't play hard enough. I mean, yeah, I know he's getting his freak on Friday night through Sunday, but fuck if the man doesn't have any real friends. He thinks he does in the form of one Elena Lincoln, but the woman makes my skin just crawl. She's one woman I wouldn't touch even with a puss-riddled vagina because she's that vile and disgusting. I've seen Christian before and after her visits in the office. She feeds his darkness. The best part is, she knows I'm not a fan since the day I made it clear to the peroxide blonde that her sorry ass doesn't intimidate me. She dressed like Darth Vader, without the mask, but she's had enough Botox that her face will probably never move again other than a slight smirk. God, I fucking hate the bitch. I'm protective of little wonder-boy Grey. I have been since day one. Fuck!

Christian's darkness concerns me. It has for a while now as I can't help but feel it's consuming him a bit. He's crankier than a ninety-year old man with a ten-inch penis that hasn't had a place to park it in five or more decades. He's emotionally detached from most people; the exceptions being his family, with him he's just distant; and with me, well, I don't let him get distant. I only let him get professional and even then, it's only on occasion. He needs someone like me in his life – a woman who won't ever hit on him and will tell him the straightforward, honest truth even if it hurts.

GEH has a one strike and you're out policy when it comes to drugs, smoking on campus, and getting DUI's. From what Elliot implied, it all has to do with Christian's early childhood. Trust me when I say, I get it. Elliot told me enough about his birth mother to know the drugs are a deal breaker, but if anyone can use a dozen or so marijuana brownies, it's Christian. They'd mellow him. The smoking I figured out on my own after seeing him without a shirt the day I spilled coffee on him in the office. If I knew the fucker who did that to him years ago, well, let's just say my dad's wood chipper would have gotten a work out. Christian's attitude when it came to alcohol was simple – enjoy it, but don't get completely shitfaced in public and if you do, don't get behind the wheel of a car - mankind invented the concept of taxis, use them. For the GEH Christmas party every year he arranges for multiple car services to shuttle people to and from the party so, as Christian puts it, they can get their Ros on. Every year he says that in the Christmas party announcement revealing the date, time, and place. I know the staff really appreciates it. Me? Well, I'm fucking flattered.

I think I need ADD medication as I seem to stray off the course of Christian's darkness. I know he sees a shrink regularly, but fuck that; it hasn't helped him too much in my opinion. According to Elliot, it keeps the boss on an even keel. Elliot would probably know better anyway. Still I think I'll always worry about Christian, because behind the domineering CEO's eyes resides a damaged child. I may be a bitch, but I'm still a sucker for a kid that needs help. I think it's what made me like the boss to begin with because he makes me feel like my damaged inner child has company. At least my inner demon child allows herself to love and be loved. I can't say the same about Christian, which is what worries me. All work and all submissives make Christian a miserable, yet rich, boy. Even I know there's more to life than that, which leads me to my next topic – Gwen. Okay, well, Elliot is the true next topic, but that leads to Gwen. If there's one thing I've learned since the shooting – all roads lean back to Gwen. Yeah, I know, Ros Bailey has turned into a romantic.

Elliot and I are the same age, our birthdays are just days apart. In many ways we are the same person with the difference being anatomical and the fact that he's a natural blonde and I'm a natural redhead. We have everything in common – sports teams, food, alcohol preferences, and taste in women. We both have a preference for blondes, but dabble outside the blonde genre occasionally. A lot of people see Elliot as a goofy guy and compare him to Christian with Elliot lacking career-wise, though they won't say it to his face or in print. Grey Construction is Elliot's dream. He attended the California Polytechnic State University in San Luis Obispo to study architectural engineering, which is one of the best programs in the country. He scored 2150 on his SATs, had a 3.9 GPA in high school even though he played on both the football and baseball teams all of those years. What I'm trying to point out here is: he's no slouch, he's intelligent, and he knows what he wants. He's just as driven as Christian is in many ways, but has different goals than his little brother (and more personality).

His long-term vision for Grey Construction was simple: build environmentally friendly structures, develop research partnerships with companies looking to develop new construction materials and energy formats, and change the way we build today. Frankly, the fact that Elliot wouldn't touch his trust fund to start his company made me respect him even more. Grey Construction is now worth somewhere north of one hundred million dollars, yet Elliot continues to pay himself a reasonable salary for what he does and leaves the rest as an investment into his business. Not too shabby if you ask me.

He's frequently asked questions about his little brother and what it feels like to live in his shadow. He laughs them off and raves about how proud he is of Christian and it's great that they are both living their dreams. Elliot Grey doesn't have an evil, jealous, bitter bone in his body. What you see is what you get. It's what I adore about him. I'd do just about anything for my Grey boys other than sleep with them.

I vividly remember ditching my first date with Gwen for an emergency four-day business trip to Singapore. Christian would have gone himself, but he was in Scotland on another acquisition, so I was stuck. Some people can sleep on an airplane. I can't, so after four solid sixteen-hour days of meetings with little sleep between them, then the commercial flight home it was safe to assume I had a beastly attitude. It was bad enough that the assholes in Singapore disrespected me at every turn because I lacked a penis, but when one of them tried to hit on me and got really handsy, I fucking lost my mind. I can laugh now, but fuck I was so pissed off it was unreal. I told him in no uncertain terms, in front of his board of directors, that Christian and I looked forward to watching his company go belly up as we were withdrawing our offer. I then kicked him in the balls and left for the airport to catch the first flight out of dodge. I knew Christian would have a cow that I did it, but fuck it. I spent five hours waiting in the first-class lounge for the next flight stateside, when Mr. Asshole who's balls I kicked arrives with the contract in hand ready to sign. What do I do? Tell him to fuck himself, lower the price by fifteen million U.S. dollars, and say, "This is now our best and final offer. Take it or leave it asshole." Thankfully he took it.

All I wanted was to go home and crawl into my bed. I'm a simple gal when I'm exhausted – give me my bed and pillow then stay the fuck away from me until I become conscious again. I hate sleeping at hotels no matter how high end they are. I'm a creature of habit and that habit comes from not feeling at home in my own home with my parents growing up, so my home is my sanctuary. Hell, when the plane is on the ground at SeaTac and I'm waiting for it to get to the gate, I am hesitant to turn my phone on, but I do. Christian would probably have a cow if I didn't even though he was in Scotland. So when I had half a dozen messages and texts from Elliot sounding very un-Elliot-like to me, I worried and agreed to meet him for dinner in two hours. I was over-tired, crabby, and the trip caused me to cancel my first date with Gwen after we'd spent a week texting and talking on the phone because our schedules conflicted after meeting at the book signing. I know I should be meeting Gwen, not Elliot, but as I said, the Grey boys are like family.

Customs took forever. I had to push Elliot back an hour because of the fucking lines. I hate customs. Finally, I get my car out of the long-term parking lot; throw my bags in the trunk and head to the nearest coffee house with a drive thru to grab a triple espresso. Forty plus hours without sleep was getting to me. Christian would be royally pissed if he knew I was back early and driving in my current exhausted state. God I love that overprotective asshole.

Amazingly, I arrived at Spitfire's before Elliot did, which annoyed the piss out of me. See, I'm surly when majorly sleep deprived. I'm also fucking starving. The food in Singapore just doesn't do it for me. I grab a table and order the Johnny Appleseed Sliders with Garlic Fries from the appetizer menu knowing Elliot will be here shortly. I can't resist texting him a simple, '_Where the fuck are you asshole?'_ before ordering my _Total Domination IPA_ from the tap. What can I say, I tried the beer because of its name six months ago and it's now my favorite. Ironic.

By the time Elliot arrives I've downed two sixteen-ounce brewskis and am working on a third still waiting for the appetizers. No sooner that the dolt arrives are the appetizers served. Elliot, being Elliot, gives me a hug, grabs a plate, and starts inhaling down sliders and fries. In between mouthfuls, he keeps repeating that he's fucked – royally fucked.

"Slow down Electrolux, I tell him as I grab the last slider – score: Elliot-4 Ros-2. What the fuck is going on?" I ask as he downs my beer. Luckily the server has seen us here enough, so when she brings him his, I get another automatically.

I'm shocked when Elliot grabs the servers arm, forces a smile, and makes his request. "Bring us two shot glasses and a full bottle of your best Macallan."

Now I know something is wrong in a major way. "What the fuck is going on Elliot?"

He downs his beer a little too fast for my liking. I'm getting worried waiting. "Spill it Grey."

"I need a few shots in me before we have this conversation. Trust me, it's better this way."

It was going to be a long, alcohol infused night, so I order us each a Cuban sandwich with a side of mac and cheese. There should be enough grease in that to slow down the effects of the alcohol. Well, I hope so anyway.

When the server returns with the Macallan, Elliot immediately downs two shots. It's nerve-racking seeing him like this. Elliot never stresses out. I down a shot and feel the burn. Fuck I hate whiskey, but for Elliot I'll do anything short of sleeping with him, so when he serves me another shot, we clink glasses and down our shots.

"Spill," I demand.

There is no missing his hesitation. His face goes from the stunned look he's worn since he walked in the door, to looking like he's going to have a massive anxiety attack, to looking like he was going to barf all over me. The quieter he is, the more concerned I grow.

"You remember Stacie?"

"Hot bottle blonde, tall, big tits, curvy ass, dumber than a bag of generic fruit loops – that Stacie? She practically lives on a barstool at the Lobby Bar. Her cunt stain is probably a permanent fixture on that barstool."

"She's pregnant."

"And? You're the condom king. You buy them in bulk online and to be a douche, have them delivered to my place. Don't tell me you knocked her up," I mutter in shock.

"She's saying the kid is mine. Supposedly I'm the only guy she's been with in the past three months and she's six weeks pregnant," he stammers taking another shot. I take another too. Could there really be a little Elliot running around in seven plus months?

"Any condom leakage issues?" I have to ask.

"Not that I'm aware of," he mutters quickly growing more and more anxious.

I pour us each another shot. "Look, there are DNA tests that can be done during the pregnancy. Force the bitch to take the test and make sure either you or I go with her. Well, you need to be there so they can get a sample from you too. You can either sit here an panic or you can be proactive."

"Fuck Ros, what am I going to do if it's mine? I know with my history it wouldn't come as a surprise to my family if there were little Elliots running around, but I've been ridiculously careful in terms of wrapping my drill."

"Worst case scenario is, as Maury would say, Elliot you are the father! But let's be real here for a minute. You're a great guy. You care about people. Your family would embrace the child and best of all you don't have to marry the mother. I mean Stacie was a one-weekend stand. You don't just up and marry that if she's knocked up with your kid, but you take care of your responsibilities and make sure the kid is financially and emotionally cared for, which means, subsidizing the bitch. If you don't think she'd be a good mother, well, you get custody of the kid. Yes, it would put a major crimp in your lifestyle, but you have the best family ever, and frankly, you know what Christian went through early on, so I know you would do whatever you had to in order to prevent your own blood from going through that."

"Fuck!" he slurs downing another shot. "I'm a fucking mess. I needed my best friend and her sorry ass was in Singapore eating bugs and negotiating a business deal."

"You forgot getting felt up in the privates by a five foot tall asshole in front of his board of directors. I kicked said asshole in the balls. Thank fuck for stilletoes," I tell him as I down another shot. Yup, I'm feeling no pain. I can see the shock on El's face. "Fucking asshole. I kicked him in the nuts, got up, and told him to enjoy bankruptcy."

"Holy fuck! Christian is going to go ape shit that you walked from that deal," he mumbles as our food is served. "So some guy finally ventured into the cavern of death?" he chuckled.

"You're a fuck head sometimes El," I snapped. "Like who the fuck does that to someone in a business meeting. I just went completely nuts, got in a cab, grabbed my shit from the hotel, and headed to the airport. If I didn't I'd be sitting in a Singapore jail for murder."

"So you blew off Christian's one hundred and fifty million dollar deal?"

I nodded. "Best part is, the asshole showed up at the VIP lounge while I was awaiting my flight as he now wanted to sign the agreement, but he didn't apologize, so I told him to fuck himself. I could see the panic in the dumbasses eyes, so I dropped the payment price by fifteen million and told him it's our best and final offer. If he didn't like it, he could get lost."

"Did he sign it?" Elliot asked practically sitting at the edge of his seat.

"Yup." We started eating our sandwiches when a thought hits me. "I have an idea. What's Stacie's last name?"

"Gentry."

I grab my cell and I'm almost too shitfaced already to dial, but I manage to get Sawyer on speakerphone. "Hey Lukie Lukie Lukie," I slur then laugh. "I need a big ass favor from my favorite CPO and future sperm donor when I want to finally have kids – so never."

"Ros? Where the fuck are you? You're supposed to be in Singapore," Luke counters.

"Fuck Singapore," Elliot snaps at him. "Can't you see that she's in no fucking mood because while she was there someone tried to lead an expedition into her cavern of doom. You know, where no man has bone before."

"What the fuck Ros, are you okay? Does Grey know?"

"Fuck Grey. I need a flavor Lukie. There's this bitch named Stacie Gentry. She rides a bar stool most nights at the Lobby Bar. I want you to get your shifty hands on the security tapes for the past few months and let me know how many jerks have visited her maw."

"And why should I do that?" Luke asks. "You realize half of the men of Seattle probably have flossed her pubes out of their teeth in the past six months, right? Hell, even Ryan had a go at her two months ago."

"It'll make for one heck of an episode of Maury then. Men of Seattle, one of you is the father – tell Ryan he'd better hope the condom didn't break," I giggle. Fuck, I must be completely trashed – I, Ros Bailey, don't giggle.

"I'll look into it Ros, but promise me you two will call me for a lift home. Neither one of you sounds like you should get behind the wheel of a car," Luke pleads.

"Sure bucko," Elliot and I tell him at the same time, clink our shot glasses, and down another shot.

"Where are you guys anyway?" Luke asks.

"You're a CPO. Track us if you can," Elliot mutters before disconnecting the call.

I managed to eat half of my sandwich and some of my mac and cheese. Elliot, being a pig, finishes his plate, before he helps himself to the rest of mine. This is how it always is with us. I'm surprised he isn't the size of a house. The only thing preventing him looking like a blonde Fat Bastard from Austin Powers is the fact that he jogs five miles most morning, works out like a motherfucker on top of that, and has a physically demanding job. That, coupled with the fact that he knows if he doesn't look good, it's harder to snag the prime beef at clubs. Gotta love Elliot.

Me? Well, I'm lucky. I'm five foot nine, D-cup, 120 pounds regardless of what I eat or how much I exercise. Yeah, I know how lucky I am, but I still jog with Elliot three mornings a week and head to different exercise classes every other evening – pilates, kickboxing, and after a drink or two, well, I head to Zumba. I'm not great with the Latin beat, but after a few drinks, I don't care and just dance around with a smile on my face. People think I have no shame, well, if they'd seen me in my first few Zumba classes, you know, the days before I smartened up and went tipsy, hell, I was mortified. Drunk it's not so bad.

I can't help but start laughing hysterically. Elliot and I are completely and utterly trashed. "There's a Zumba class around the corner starting in ten minutes. Let's go show them how it's done."

Elliot laughs hysterically as he pays the tab and just like Christian, tips the waitress well. He leaves with the Macallan bottle, half empty in his hand. We're practically holding each other up as we stumble around the corner and through the door of the twenty-four hours gym. It's eleven at night – odd time for a Zumba class.

"You'll be the only straight guy there Grey," I slur.

"I don't give a shit. My blood alcohol level is probably sitting at point one seven, so I'm free," he stumbles up the steps.

Amazingly he still has the bottle of Macallan in hand. By the time we get to the Zumba floor, the class is about to begin. Most people are in workout clothes, but not us. I'm wearing six-inch heels and a little Gucci black and white dress that's too short for business wear. Sue me - I changed on the plane. I hate business suits. Elliot, well, he's Elliot – jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers.

The instructor knows me well enough to know, Ros doesn't Zumba without hooch, so he ignores the bottle. When the first song starts playing, Zumba by Don Omar, I can't help but grab El's hand and turn it into dirty Latin dancing as we somehow manage to occasionally take another swig directly from the bottle. The rest of the class keeps to the Zumba routine. Frankly, Elliot can dance. He's clearly danced to Latin music before because my body is flat against his and he's twirling my sorry, uncoordinated ass round the dance floor. If I feel the cobra thickening, I'm outta here. Fuck, Elliot can dance. All eyes are now on us. We must look hot, which just encourages me even more. Screw this! We're going to dance our asses off and show these bitches how it's done. We each take a long chug from the bottle, grin at each other and my booty starts a shaking to the beat. _Fuck Yeah!_

_**Seven hours later …**_

My head is pounding so hard I can't even open my eyes. All I know is I'm in my bed and I'm not alone. I'd recognize the smell of my bedroom anywhere, even if it is comingled with the smell of scotch. The only things I'm aware of without opening my eyes are:

I'm naked under the sheet

I'm not alone

The person I'm wrapped around is too muscular and hairy in some spots to be female.

They are sporting some major wood

_FUCK! _ Without opening my eyes, I dash from the bed and rush toward my bathroom. I stop dead in my tracks when I step on something moist and filled. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and gaze downward. I may be a lesbian, but I know what a used condom looks like and I see three on the floor – clearly used. I venture a glance at my bed and see a mess of wavy blonde hair, face down, no sheet, in all his glory is fucking Elliot Grey -_ FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!_


	6. Chapter 6: A Fist Full of Valium

_**Author's Note**__**: If the use of the F-word offends, you know, the one that rhymes with duck, cluck, and suck, well you might want to skip this chapter or read it after taking a chill pill. Hung over Ros = no brain to mouth filter whatsoever along with limited verbal ability. Yours truly, Ana G.**_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – A Fist Full of Valium**

_WHAT THE FUCK!_ That's all my inner voice is screaming at me repeatedly as I sink to the floor in my shower. I just sit there, stunned as the hot water washes over me. How the fuck did I end up with my best friend not only in my bed, but apparently sated and passed out. Three times… three fucking times. How? I mean I don't do guys. Until now there had never been an exception to that rule. Not that I fucking remember much as we climbed the steps toward our impromptu Zumba class. I don't feel any different, but hey, I've tried all the toys. It's not like things haven't been in there before, just not men. _Fuck!_ Needless to say this is going to basically end the free-spirited fun I've always had with Elliot without ever having had to worry in the past of him hitting on me. _FUCK! FUCKETY FUCK FUCK FUCK!_

After calming myself down, I decide to do what I always do when life has stressed me out:

(1) go to work and immerse myself in the M&A world;

(2) pretend whatever it is that has fucked with my head didn't happen; and

(3) drink heavily after work while eating a massive piece of tiramisu cheesecake.

It takes me all of fifteen minutes to shower, dress, grab my make up bag & purse, pop some Excedrin Migraine, and bolt from the condo - all without Elliot waking up. Yup, I'm still Ninja Ros. When I get to the garage, I realize my car must still be parked in the lot at Spitfire. Fuck this shit! Friday's are supposed to be winding down days and I'm wound tighter than Sister Mary Virginity is after walking into a whorehouse.

Thankfully Spitfire is only three blocks from the condo, so I start walking. It's about eight a.m. and no one expects me in the office today. Though Sawyer knows I'm back in town, that's about it. He was off-duty when I called him so I hope he keeps his Texas-sized mouth shut. I pick up my pace knowing living across the street from Christian can suck when you don't want your presence known just yet. I also know that on Friday's he has a standing eight-thirty appointment with his shrink, so if I don't move my sweet ass in gear, either he or Taylor will see me taking the walk of shame to find my car. Let the power walk begin.

I should have known my luck wouldn't have held out this morning. The fucking hair on the back of my neck stood at attention a split second before the black Audi Q7 pulled up next to me. I just stopped, turned, and gave in to the defeat I was feeling this morning. "What Christian?" I snapped at him harshly.

His eyes widened in shock at my greeting, but wisely he didn't say anything. Neither did Taylor as they both watched me from their open windows. "Look," I inform them. "I had a shitty trip, a shitty night, and if possible, an even shittier morning. So just back the fuck off until I can at least get ten shots of espresso into me and maybe a fist full of Valium."

"Good morning to you too Ros," Christian snapped back in reply. "You're back early."

"So are you," I snip back at him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to grab my car and head into the office." With that I just walk away. I'm thankful they don't follow me.

I know he's my boss, but fuck, right now I'm in complete and utter emotional turmoil. How the fuck am I'm going to explain this mess to Gwen? I know we haven't been out on our first official date yet, but Jesus, that night at the bookstore we flirted beyond belief. Hell, we even found a corner and made out. We'd been texting and calling back and forth for days trying to get our calendars in synch so we could have our official first date and work fucked that up, then I fucked it up some more by getting drunk with Elliot fresh off the fucking plane. I make a mental note to myself to check the security footage from not only my condo, but the lobby of the building as well. I just don't fucking understand how I could have allowed Elliot to fuck my brains out. I'm assuming he fucked my brains out because his reputation as a master of penis play leaves women crushed when he doesn't call them back. Leave it to me, well, me and Macallan, to not remember any of it. Did I like it or did I hate it? Was it voluntary? Did his junk work? What the fuck am I thinking? Of course it worked. There were three condoms as evidence on my bedroom floor and they weren't exactly empty. _FUCK FUCK FUCK!_

I hate my fucking life right now. _Fuck!_

Once I arrive at Spitfire, I get into my car, start it and sit there for ten minutes with my head on the steering wheel. "I'm Ros Bailey – I do not cry. I do not cry. I do not cry," I mutter to myself through my tears. "Fuck, I'm turning into a chick."

Somehow I manage to calm my pathetic ass down and drive to the office. I'm just glad that Christian had his appointment this morning, because it meant I arrived at GEH before him, plunked the signed paperwork onto his desk, and have time to write up the trip summary and email it to him, all before he arrived his chauffeur-driven ass to work. After the shooting, I had my ass chauffeured all over creation. It drove me nuts. Now, it's only when a threat level is identified, which is fine by me.

I can't help but lock the door to my office, this way people just leave my sorry ass alone. I even turn off my cell phone when Elliot begins calling me every five minutes from the moment he becomes conscious. When my private office phone starts ringing and it's Elliot, I pick it up, say 'not fucking now' and hang up on him. This is entirely new ground for me. I'm fucking lost. I've sworn more today than in the past two months combined. I must have sat at my desk for hours ignoring the knocks, the calls, the emails – just everything, as my mind struggles to not only come to grip with what happened, but trying to remember it all and failing.

"I have no control. I have no fucking control. Mother fucker, my life is completely out of my control," I finally snap. I grab my purse, unlock my office door, stumble over Sawyer who had been working on removing the lock on Christian's order, and I'm stopped dead in my tracks at the sight before me. Standing next to Christian and Taylor are Gwen and Elliot. When did Elliot get that big bruised goose egg on his forehead? He didn't have it at the bar last night. And why the fuck is he scratching his ass?

"In my office now Ros," Christian commands in his best dominant voice before turning and heading into his office.

I'm so royally fucked. The one time I finally meet someone who is just awesome and makes me want more, I fuck it up. I know I have to come clean to Gwen about the cluster fuck that was last night, but shit. I'm going to get my sorry ass fired first. It's just a great fucking day. Just great.

After a moment of hesitation, I follow Christian into his office. I'm surprised and quite unhappy when Elliot, Taylor, Sawyer, and Gwen follow.

The second the door closes, Christian begins. "What the fuck is going on Ros? You're a fucking mess and you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

"You'll have to be more specific," I can't help but snap back at him. "The past thirty-six hours have been a cluster fuck of epic proportions, so you'll have to narrow down the time line a bit for me."

I can't help but return his glare. I know he's not happy that I'm pushing back, but hell, after the past day and a half, I need to know what we are addressing as I'm hoping we can avoid the entire Elliot fiasco of last night and this morning.

He nods at Taylor, who turns on the video monitor. "Let's start with this tape that was leaked onto the Internet in the early hours this morning with the headline: GEH COO Doing the Nasty with the Other Grey.

Fuck! I could feel the blood draining to my feet as the video of Elliot and I dirty dancing at Zumba played on the screen. Some fucker taped it and sold it to the highest bidder. The one thing I promised Christian is that my personal life wouldn't ever impact our working relationship or GEH's reputation. I fucked up big time.

Elliot and I were both pale watching the video of our drunken selves dancing seductively to the Latin beat. There was no missing my hands went on his ass first, though in my defense, he'd motor-boated me a few moments before while I was taking another large swig of Macallan. Fuck, even I have to admit our dancing to the Latin beat was ridiculously hot. Shit.

When the music stops, I'm gazing into his eyes giving him my best, drunken grin and he's returning the look. I'm so fucking screwed. A second later, I see myself running toward my purse, dumping it out on the floor and search through the wreckage for my iPod. Once I find it, I highjack the Zumba class by plugging it in and the next song we hear playing is _'You're the One That I Want'_ From _Grease_." There is absolutely, positively nothing worse than two drunken assholes trying to duplicate the final dance sequence from Grease on camera. Naturally, I don't smoke, so I use a tampon as my mock cigarette. Yup, I went all in last night.

"Holy fuck," Elliot and I both mutter at the same time. We give each other a quick glance, before looking away quickly. Neither of us dares to look at anyone else in the room.

Christian finally has mercy on us and stops the video. "So, do either of you care to explain that?" he asks as he leans against his desk staring down at us.

"I plead the fifth," was my whispered reply.

"It looks like I had a fucking blast," Elliot counters. I can't help myself, I punch him in the arm.

"Shall we continue with more video footage from your exploits last night?" Christian asks as Gwen now stands next to him leaning against his desk.

My mind is screaming at me: _WHAT THE FUCK?_

The next video starts and much to my mortification, it's from the security camera in the foyer of my condo. I'm so screwed. The clock reads 11:45 pm. Zero hour. The time I completely destroyed my career.

I'm holding my breath waiting for the elevator doors to open. I don't know what to expect, but part of me believes Elliot and I were all over each other in there. I repeat the mantra running through my head since I woke up this morning, _I'm so fucking screwed_. When the elevator doors finally open, I'm stunned, speechless, and both Elliot and I are staring at Christian, Taylor, and Sawyer questioningly.

The last thing I expected to see on the video was Christian carrying my sorry unconscious ass into my apartment like a sack of potatoes, followed by Taylor and Sawyer carrying Elliot's passed out ass between them. Looking at the video, I see Elliot's head still doesn't have the bruised goose egg that resides there currently.

We both must have looks of utter confusion on our faces as we stare at the screen, but Christian allows the video to continue, only now he has a smirk on his face, as do Gwen, Taylor, and fucking Sawyer. The video continues with Christian unceremoniously plopping my sorry ass onto the couch.

"Fucking dumbasses," I hear him start to mutter in the video, but he is interrupted by the elevator pinging, announcing yet another visitor. Instantly, the elevator doors open showing Gwen there holding what appears to be a rifle bag, but I know otherwise. Taylor and Sawyer instantly drop Elliot onto the marble floor, pull their weapons and rush to subdue my girl. Fuck!

The terrified look on Gwen's face in the video makes my heart feel like it's going to explode in my chest. "Who are you people and what are you doing in Ros's apartment?" she demands of Taylor and Sawyer, who have taken the bag from her, frisked her, and forced her to sit in one of the club chairs.

In the video you can see Taylor rifling through her wallet and gazing at her driver's license. "I apologize Miss Allen, we thought you were an intruder. We take Ms. Bailey's security seriously," he counters as Sawyer glances into the rifle bag.

"You blondie," Gwen calls over to Sawyer. "That's private. Don't ask, don't tell." He merely nods and zips up the bag.

We watch as Christian introduces himself and his security team to Gwen, commenting that he's heard good things about her. Leave it to Grey to turn on the charm. It amazes me that they quickly strike up a conversation, open a bottle of wine and start drinking together. Christian pulls out his cell phone and shows her the video from Zumba and the fuckers laugh their asses off.

Gwen looks all manner of hot in her skinny jeans, tank top, and the mischievous smile that crosses her face. Fuck, she's even more attractive on film than she was in the bookstore. She demands each of the guys open their wallets and pull out their emergency condom. When all three look at her in shock, she replies, "I know all men have a condom in their wallets starting the day they start carrying a wallet, so come on boys."

Taylor claims he's in a relationship. Christian, well, he just throws his wallet at her and after she rifles through it – nothing, no condom. She smirks at Sawyer as she approaches him with her hand outstretched. "Wallet please," she demands with her other hand on her hip.

Sawyer looks at Taylor and Grey pleadingly. The two assholes just smile at him. Finally Sawyer relents and hands her his wallet. I can't help but laugh at the look on Sawyer's red face on the video. I glance over at him in the office and he's fucking red as a tomato. Awesome!

Video Gwen, pulls half-a-dozen condom packets from Sawyer's wallet, looks at them and with a straight face says, "Extra large hmmm" then she looks at his crotch, then back into his eyes and adds, "wishful thinking big guy, but you know what they say, dream big or go home."

Fuck I love her! I'd bow to her right now if I could without my head feeling like it was exploding. It was like listening to Christian and Taylor laughing in stereo. They are laughing in the video and in person. I almost feel bad for fucking Sawyer, but I keep watching the video and can't help but giggle as Gwen takes complete control of the situation by ripping open three of Sawyer's condom packets and throwing the unopened ones at him. When she goes to the kitchen and returns with three condoms and a bottle of squirt mayonnaise, I practically cheer – "THANK FUCK!" The relief is overwhelming so I start dancing around the office like Richard Simmons on speed chanting, "I didn't screw Elliot! I didn't screw Elliot! WOO HOO! I'm still space the final frontier and you Elliot Grey aren't Captain Picard, you fucking asshole."

Elliot just laughs but I can see the relief in his eyes.

"Sit down Big Red and watch the rest of the video," Gwen orders after a shared smirk with Christian.

The rest of the video shows Christian carrying me into my bedroom and laying me on my bed. He leaves the room and Gwen covers me with a sheet before discretely undressing me completely. Next Taylor and Sawyer carry Elliot in and leave. Christian then undresses his brother after covering him with a sheet. After a quick game of strategically place the faux used condoms, putting a bottle of lube on the bedside table near Elliot's head, Taylor and Sawyer head out smirking._ Fuckers! _What happens next shocks me to my very core. Elliot and I watch slack jawed as Gwen pulls a box marked 'Henna tattoo kit' from her oversized purse and where a tramp stamp should go just above my butt crack, free-hands a temporary graphic tattoo of Elliot's face just over my butt crack with his tongue hanging out like he was Gene Simmons.

"Holy fuck!" Elliot laughs his ass off as I continue my swear-a-thon. That laugh ends immediately when he sees Gwen using the henna to place my face just over his buttcrack, but not before she grabs my waxing kit the bathroom and leaves herself a nice, smooth, hair-free canvas just over and down into Elliot's butt-crack. Holy shit that's hilarious! How the fuck did I not notice the tattoo on his bare ass when I woke up in a panic this morning? Shock or blinded by his pasty white ass. I have no idea, but I fucking missed it.

"You four are fucking assholes," Elliot explodes for a split second, and then struggles to contain his grin. "Fuck. I just about had a heart attack this morning. I thought I fucked Ros of all people. I mean, fucking Ros."

"Right back at you moron," I countered before turning my attention toward the Freaking Fantastic Four – Christian, Gwen, Taylor, and Sawyer. "You four are just fucked in the head."

"Blame Gwen," the three guys muttered. "She led the pack."

Gwen just laughed. "Never back out on a date for someone with a dick, especially if your jilted date worked her way through college as a tattoo artist, and a caricaturist. I may be bubbly, but underneath us bubbly folk tend to have a wicked sense of humor and we'll screw you over every time."

"Being screwed over – sounds good to me," I mutter with a grin. This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

After ZumbaCallan-gate it only took me three months to put a ring on Gwen's finger, and six weeks to fly her curvy-ass to Massachusetts where gay marriage was legal. It was a beach wedding. The brides wore white bikini's with white sarongs, Elliot was my best man, Christian walked me down the aisle, and Gwen's father walked her down the aisle. Best day of my life ever!


	7. Chapter 7: Ahoy Andrea!

**Chapter 7 – Andrea Ahoy!**

It's been six months since our amazing personal assistant, Laura moved to California. In those six months, Christian and I have gone through almost a dozen PA's. None of them has made the cut. Even the specialized headhunter we used stated they were out of qualified candidates. The complaints were pretty typical – it's too much work for one person, so we hired two and they both quit stating Christian is too demanding – that's why he's a billionaire sweetie so don't let the door hit your bulbous ass on the way out; four of them could only sit there and day dream about Christian or bat their eye lashes at him – needless to say, he kicked their asses to the curb; and never mind our last PA, who lasted just a few hours. Taylor walked her out the door personally when she was caught taking pictures of Christian with her cell phone. All I knew is that if we didn't find a competent PA soon either I was going to murder Christian or vice-versa.

Manning the PA's desk for the past week has been one of the security team – Luke Sawyer. When he was in the military, he'd been injured and for six months he did office work while he rehabbed – so in other words, he was fucked. He was computer literate, smart, and organized, but he appeared out of place and absolutely miserable. Hell, there were days I was afraid he'd put a gun to his head when Christian was a grumpy ass. I have to hand it to him though, he was better at it than any of the near dozen we kicked to the curb or had left voluntarily. Okay, so more like running out of here practically screaming.

As for Luke, well, I think what made him absolutely miserable were the not so subtle taunts of the rest of the security team. The fucker drew the short straw because he was the most computer literate when it came to basic office software. I had a soft spot for Luke Sawyer. He saved my life after that dinner a couple of years ago. So what do I do? I'm a bitch, so I send him a large bouquet of flowers every day to be delivered to his new workstation with tacky, yet anonymous cards.

The day I sent roses the card stated: _You look so hot and studly behind that desk. Bet you look good in fuck me pumps_.

The next day I sent carnations and the card stated: _Is that perfume for my benefit? Pheromones make me moan._

The third day I sent peony's and the card stated: _A male personal assistant yummy. Do you swing my way baby? _

The fourth day I sent orchids and the card stated: _Bend over for me baby. That ass is sweet._

The fifth day I sent a mixed bouquet and the card stated: _Are those quarters or are you happy to see me._ I saw him receive that bunch and all he did was mutter under his breath, _no Ros, it's an '1846 Ecuadorian 8 reales' coin roll and I'm downplaying it._ Fucking awesome bitch. I make a mental note to google that coin.

The sixth day I mixed it up and sent a massive box of expensive chocolate and the card read: _You're a good sport Sawyer. All my love and affection, CTG_

What can I say? I'm an evil bitch. Oh yeah, and Christian was not amused. He fired me the day of the chocolates, but I still came back the next morning. He'll never mean it. Sawyer on the other hand plotted his revenge. I have to hand it to him; he did a really good job. It took all of three weeks for my condo to be flooded with magazine subscriptions to Playgirl and other periodicals full of naked, aroused men. It was the gift that kept giving all year long. The fucker even managed to bill it to my personal credit card with automatic renewal billing. Luke _fucking_ Sawyer – you just have to love him. I spent two days on the phone trying to cancel all of them at the end of the first year. Even stick-in-the-mud Christian found the situation amusing, but that's another story for a later time.

Christian and I both felt Luke was actually doing a decent job in the roll of PA, but we also knew that he was absolutely miserable. That's an understatement. At the end of the fifth week, an appointment popped up on our calendars for a combined interview of someone just noted as Andrea in conference room one. We both looked at each other hesitantly as we waited in the conference room.

"Any idea what this is about? Fucking Sawyer didn't have any notes in the invites," Christian asked impatiently.

I merely shrugged in response. When the door finally opened, Luke held it for a tall impeccably coiffed natural blonde in her late twenties wearing a power suit and sky high Jimmy Choos. She could have been model. Her features were feminine, beautiful, and she radiated intelligence. Luke handed us each a copy of her resume.

"Mr. Grey, Ms. Bailey, I'd like to introduce you to Ms. Andrea Fields. She's the latest candidate for the PA position," Luke explains. "In fairness and total disclosure, Andrea is my cousin and is considering moving to Seattle from New York City if the right, stable opportunity presents itself."

"Have a seat Ms. Fields," Christian began as he reviewed her resume. Once Ms. Fields took a seat opposite us and Luke left the room, the annoying interview process began.

"I'm a very difficult man to work for Ms. Fields. As Luke said, in fairness and full disclosure, we've gone through nearly a dozen assistants in six months. They've either felt it was too much work, even when we hired two at a time to share the workload, they get too personal with me, which is not appreciated or desired, or they act inappropriately. Do you understand?"

She nods. "I can assure you Mr. Grey, attractive though you are, you aren't my type." She looks over my way and adds, "Neither are you Ms. Bailey, so I can assure you both, I will not cross that line. In the continued theme of full disclosure – I have limited tolerance for stupidity, disorganization, ignorance, and slackers. Luke explained what the job entails, along with the hours and the flexibility needed. It seems to me that you need one personal assistant, and perhaps two interns for perform the more mundane tasks that would waste the time of a trained professional PA. You can get two interns or more for the price of one fully trained PA, and the satisfaction of knowing that your primary PA is focused on the most important tasks at hand and not the repetitious ones that can be completed by someone else."

"I can see based on your resume that you haven't worked in mergers and acquisitions before," I ask. "How much do you know about the industry?"

"It's fast paced, cut throat, and it can change on a dime. Confidentiality is key," she replies and the excitement is clear in her eyes. "I've worked as a PA for the President of a major health care system for the past five years. It's boring and the same routine day after day. I hate monotony. I enjoy being challenged. I wasn't. This is why I left the job two weeks ago. I guess you can say I'm looking for a new adventure, preferably closer to family. I've read up on mergers and acquisitions. I like the idea of being a pirate." There was no missing the excited gleam in her eyes.

"Do you speak any foreign languages?" I can't help but ask.

"I'm fluent in both Spanish and French, and I understand Korean when spoken."

I'm surprised when Christian asks her when she can start. This is the first interview that felt right and it's shorter than all of the others.

"I need a few weeks to move my belongings from New York City, sell my condo, and find an apartment here," she replies.

"If you can begin this coming Monday morning I'll have Luke arrange movers and packers for your belongings, he'll set you up in a hotel for a eight week period on GEH so you can explore Seattle and find the right apartment or condo here, so it's not a rushed decision. I can arrange the sale of your New York City condo with my realtor and in the meantime, you can begin shopping for a place here if that is your preferred housing route and GEH will cover the down payment and we can square away once our east coast residence sells. Luke can take you out shopping for clothes and other necessities you might need for the two-week period or so until your belongings arrived. All of these expenses will be covered by GEH, along with whatever security deposit and first months rent you require once you find your apartment," Christian explains.

I know the man follows his gut, but wow. Yes, Andrea feels right. She feels like an ice queen and that's what we need at that desk – someone who isn't easily rattled or intimidated. Hell, I can see her being intimidating ass all hell to some of the employees here. It will be fun to watch. I think he's a smart man to jump on this hire. What he says next though, floors me.

"If you agree, your starting salary is one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars per year, four weeks vacation, and expense account, full benefits, a clothing allowance as you represent GEH at the highest level so I expect you to wear only the absolute best, and you'll need to visit Human Resources today to get the ball rolling on hiring two interns. I'm not an easy man to work for and Ros isn't exactly a picnic either. I need you to fully understand that. There will be frequent after hour calls due to my international business, late nights, early mornings, and more weekends than you'll care to imagine. I reward high performing employees and like you, I do not endure stupidity, ignorance, or slackers. If you have a suggestion, I expect to hear it when you have it, not after the fact. You will be part of a team, and all members contribute and bring differing points of view to situations. You will be in a position to know all of my business and personal dealings, so a signed NDA is required. The position comes with a company car, as given your access to data, I need to make sure you have safe, reliable transportation. Moving from New York City, it's safe to assume you don't currently own a vehicle." She nods in agreement. "Whatever apartment you select will have to meet security standards and require a secure office for those times when I need you to work after hours. This will avoid wasting more of your normal down time by avoiding traveling. You will be issued a company laptop, phone, and tablet. GEH will completely furnish your home office, along with the security system for the apartment."

I don't know Andrea, but the shock and excitement on her face are evident. "I wholeheartedly accept and look forward to being part of the GEH team."

"Ros, will you take Andrea down to Human Resources to get the ball rolling. Once she's done there, fill Sawyer in so he can handle the rest." With that said, Christian gets to his feet, shakes her hand, and welcomes her to the GEH team before leaving us alone in the conference room. The shocked look on Andrea's face makes me laugh.

"He's a piece of work," I inform her. "He's a pain in the ass to work for, but it's worth it. He's brilliant, quirky, and underneath the asshole exterior has a heart of gold. He's the first guy I've ever worked for who didn't give a damned about gender, just intelligence. GEH is known for having the highest percentage of females in both management and executive levels. You'll hate him at first, but then he'll grow on you like mold and turn into his version of penicillin. I'm sure Luke gave you some idea what to expect. At Grey House we work hard and tend to play hard. Where are you currently staying in Seattle?"

"Nowhere. I was planning on spending the weekend at Luke's."

"Give me one minute," I inform her as I pick up the conference room phone and dial the Fairmont Olympic's Manager's private line. When he answers I arrange for the Corner Suite to be reserved, starting tonight, for a period of eight weeks and bill it, along with any room service or expense to the GEH account. "The tenant will be Andrea Fields. University Audi will be delivering a new S5S for Ms. Fields use. Please ensure she has assigned parking during her stay so she's not inconvenienced."

"Do you have any advice for me?" she asked.

"Work hard, think outside the box, and throw yourself into the job. Be both a shark and a pirate. You'll come to see how much we all rely on our IT and security teams. They do a tremendous amount of research for us when we set a target. You'll grow to know them all quite well. Keep your eyes and ears open. As you learn about the M&A world, you'll find yourself listening to other people's conversations when you are out on the town. You will be like me, when you get home, power up the laptop and start digging into the company in question. Christian will love that. Don't take shit from anyone. Set the tone on your first day – tough but fair. No one other than me, walks into Christian's office unannounced. He's ridiculously private. I only do it to annoy him." I can't help but smirk. "We're both workaholics. There are also few people whose calls get put through to us if we are free. For me it's my partner Gwen and Christian's crazy brother Elliot. For Christian, it's Elliot, his parents, or his sister Mia."

"How long have you been at GEH?"

I grin. "I was the first official employee hired at GEH. Christian dropped out of Harvard at twenty, borrowed money to buy his first company, where I was working at the time and we clicked. I call it _Mr. Grey's Wild Ride_ because that's what it's been since day one and I wouldn't change a thing." We both laughed, but I can see the woman before me wasn't like Sawyer. He was serious but had a twisted sense of humor behind the façade. Andrea, well, she strikes me as the hardworking, serious type, which is what we need.

"So what do you recommend for a dress code while I'm here?" she asked.

"Think upscale New York City female CEO meets ice queen - feminine but tough. The way you are dressed today is perfect right down to your make up. You're professional, attractive, yet you don't look like you're on the prowl. Luke will take you to Nieman's to meet with a personal shopper named Carolyn Acton. You'll love her. Trust me when I say, don't look at the price tag. On Fridays we have a dry cleaner that comes in and picks up our business wear for the executive staff, of which you are now one, and they return everything on Monday morning. Christian is of the belief that you shouldn't wear the same outfit more than once every three weeks, so be prepared for Carolyn Acton to treat you as her own dress up doll, clothes, shoes, accessories and all. It's annoying as all fuck, but she's amazing. She even arranged for the two thousand dollar suits that the security team's CPO's wear. They each have a dozen or more of them. Trust me, it's ridiculous, but it's Christian."

She nods. "Is there much travel to arrange?"

"We travel multiple times per month, but we just closed a deal on a corporate jet for any trip greater than four hundred miles. For trips between one and four hundred miles Christian has a helicopter that he calls Charlie Tango. The security team will take care of all travel arrangements that involve flying, while coordinating the hotel accommodations with you. He's a rich kid with his toys." I laugh. "If he's traveling, he flies Charlie Tango, if I'm taking it, we have a pilot named Joe to chauffeurs my sorry ass around.

"GEH is a young company. The average employee age is twenty-seven. The company believes in giving back. We support numerous international charities with donations of both cash and food. Locally we support food banks and reputable charities that care for victims of abuse. Christian does not believe in publicizing the charitable work. He's insistent about that. He expects his employees to be active in some type of charitable work. Between the two of us we get invited to a few dozen fundraisers and galas per month. We always attend those thrown by Coping Together, and the rest we pick five or six on any given month and split them down the middle and attend. There will be times when you might be needed to attend. During those times, GEH will provide the wardrobe and transportation since you will be representing the company. Over time, you'll see how much control you really have here. We travel a great deal, so you are the exclusive portal to us other than the security team."

My phone vibrates and I give it a quick check. We get up and head out of the conference room. Human Resources is ready for us. "This place is very monochrome," Andrea comments.

"I have theories about that. The first is Christian is colorblind, but I'm not so sure," I comment as we push the elevator button. The other is he's ironic and is playing with the Grey on gray, but again, he's generally just not that funny of a guy; though he does have his moments. The third is the most likely theory – he's afraid it will clash with his hair or mine. Who the fuck knows what's locked inside that rainman head of his. Then again, who really knows what goes through the brain of a twenty-three year old visionary. I've been working by his side sixty hours per week for three years and I'm clueless half the time. He's just brilliant but color challenged.

His brother Elliot owns a big construction company and is building our new office tower a few blocks over. It should be ready in about eight more months. If it's anything like Christian's condo at Escala, it's going to be pretty much the same color scheme. Be prepared, you're Elliot's type. I love him like a brother. He's a big, perverted teddy bear and the best friend I ever had. He tends to push Christian's buttons, so the boss is sometimes grumpy after his brother leaves. That's how you'll know Elliot pushed him too far. On those days, just don't take it personally. It's Elliot, not you. Generally though, Elliot is nice enough to send flowers to the PA as he is very much aware he ruined their day as well as Christians."

* * *

It's exciting starting a new week at GEH with a new PA who feels right. I have to admit, I talked Gwen's ear off all weekend, worried that Andrea might get run off by Christian's moodiness. Gwen reassured me that Christian would be fine. They'd struck up an unlikely friendship during ZumbaCallan-gate. Hell, we even went out to dinner every few weeks with Christian. He never ceases to surprise me.

Rumor around the Grey House is people are taking bets on how long the new PA will last. The past six months have felt like a revolving door of hookers as they made their way on board, then either were terminated or quit. I knew Christian followed his gut when it came to people. Hell, the offer he made Andrea Fields was ridiculous. The others weren't paid half of what he offered Andrea or received the side perks other than a few outfits. My money is she'll go the distance. At least that's what my hundred-dollar office bet was and I was the only one who thought she would last.

Andrea arrived and the security team, PA Sawyer and Barney helped her settle in. Barney, who was all of twenty-one now thought she was hot – like hooker teacher hot. How do I know this since Barney isn't capable of conversation that isn't business related? He's been humming _Van Halen's Hot For Teacher_ every time he walks away from his desk. Yup, she was going to give him a nerdgasm if she bent over one more time. That kid needs to get laid something fierce. Christian wouldn't allow Elliot and I to buy him a weekend with an escort for his twenty-first birthday. What a fucking killjoy.

Barney's an odd guy. Christian can scream at him like a maniac and the kid doesn't react. I swear he must go all Yoda and turn his mind off, because even Barney's breathing doesn't change. Christian knows when he's yelled too much at the kid, as he puts him onto the GEH jet for different comic conventions. Last year Barney went to Comic-Con in California, Indie-Cade also in California, and Dragon Con in Atlanta. He also made sure Barney got to all the big conventions in Seattle and there were quite a few. This is the Christian Grey I know. He may not interact a great deal on a personal level with his team, but he knows them, their interests, and their needs. He's a lot like Barney in that way – not very social, but a smart guy with a heart of gold.

I was surprised when Andrea added a meeting to both my calendar and Christian's for eleven am. I have to admit, I was intrigued as I headed toward Christian's office. Andrea followed me in and we sat in front of Christian's over-sized desk and she began.

"I'm certain you are wondering why I called this meeting. I thought it would be best to ask a few things point blank first. Do either of you have any food allergies I need to know about since there will be occasions where I order in food for meetings? If no allergies, any dislikes. Are there any medical conditions I need to know about, like diabetes? I ask because my last employer neglected to tell me and I found him passed out on his office floor. Thankfully he recovered, but if either of you are diabetic, I want to ensure anything I order follows your dietary needs and if you are in a meeting that runs over, that some type of refreshment is served to ensure blood sugar is stabilized. I know it sounds odd," she explains blushing slightly "but there is nothing worse than finding your boss flat on his back in a coma."

Christian and I look at each other and smirk. "No medical conditions on either side and no food allergies," Christian responds. "Ros isn't fond of anything remotely healthy, which I'm hoping you'll be able to change."

"Screw you Christian," I snap back. He's such an asshole sometimes. I have to hand it to Andrea, she doesn't even smirk, but I can see her clenching her fist with her nails digging into her palms to make sure she doesn't. I like her already.

"Based on my research you have quite a few dealings with South Korea. Since I understand Korean, I thought I might be of assistance by taking meeting minutes for you during those interactions. This will allow me to send you real time translations of anything they are stating in Korean so you don't understand. I asked Barney about software for that and he explained it's possible to do using a PC which will then send what I type into a small ear piece that won't even be visible as words."

I don't think I've ever seen a smile this big on Christian's face. He already knows he's made the right choice for a PA. "Where were you hiding these past six months?" he asked seriously.

She blushes. "I was telling Luke that I wasn't ready to move. He's been on my back about this position since your long time PA Laura left. He knew it was a good fit, but it's Luke."

"You mean, every family is like a living organism," I can't help myself because I adore Luke Sawyer "and Luke is the asshole. Every family needs one."

She laughs and pleads the fifth about her favorite cousin. "I looked back through your appointment calendar and noticed you regularly meet with people of different nationalities. I then compared it to the historical food and drink orders, along with the stock room supplies in the executive kitchen. I'd like your permission to set up a separate smaller kitchen exclusively for use with those that meet directly with your executive team. All on this floor share the kitchen, which is unacceptable in terms of some religious beliefs. For example, people that follow Judaism and Islam do not eat pork and would not allow it into their kitchens. It would be a great offense if we were to heat up food or beverages for your visitors in a microwave that had been used to cook bacon. While I know it sounds like an extreme action to take, GEH does do a tremendous amount of work within Africa, which is a continent where the people are predominately adherers of Islam or Christianity."

"Make whatever changes you feel are necessary and spare no expense. You are correct in your belief that it is more respectful of their beliefs," Christian responds. There's no missing he's impressed by Andrea.

"According to HR recruitment for the internship positions will begin later this week. What role would you each like in terms of the applicants?" she asked.

"Work with Taylor and Barney on background checks. You can work with HR and perform the interviews as well as the HR Director. The finalist candidates, no more than five of them, will be interviewed by both Ros and I, then together the three of us will decide who we hire."

* * *

To say Andrea worked out would be the understatement of the year. While she was related to Sawyer, their mothers are sisters; she was nothing like the fun-loving guy I knew when Christian was out of earshot. Hell, he was the only one on the security team who showed their sense of humor and mischief. Off hours, Sawyer gave Elliot a run for his money when it came to women and overall debauchery. Andrea was the same both in and out of work – an ice queen with a good heart who lived for the job. She was just odd. It takes all kinds to make the world go around. Who am I, a lesbian, dominatrix, businesswoman, handcuffed (literally) in a wonderfully kinky gay marriage with the love of my life, to judge anyone? I mean really.

So about a year ago when I started receiving monthly shipments of dozens of frosted ejaculating penis cookies at GEH, I went after Sawyer, who looked shocked. After I ruled him out I went after Elliot, then the tag-team of Christian and Gwen. But it wasn't any of them. Was Andrea the perfect straight man of our band of misfit pirates? I never did find out who provided me one year of three-dozen ejaculating penis cookies, but they were awesome! I gained ten pounds in six months. It's not like I could just leave them in the break room at work or donate them to Coping Together. It was either eat them or toss them out and Christian had issues with wasted food. I was so screwed. Thankfully Elliot had no shame and brought the milk each month. He gained twenty pounds in six months and for once it wasn't all muscle. Christian gave us each a gym membership and told us to get our shit together. Fuck wad!

Interestingly enough, Andrea ended up purchasing a three-bedroom condo in my building because it met all of the security requirements and she needed a guest bedroom since one bedroom would become her home office. When Christian saw her coming out of the building after seeing a two bedroom and then a three-bedroom condo, he was thrilled that she was looking someplace secure. It was four weeks into her career at GEH and she was thriving. When he saw she loved the three-bedroom apartment but the price was more than she expected, he pulled out his checkbook and handed the realtor a deposit that was half the price of the condo. That's Christian for you.

_**Three years later**_ and she's still awesome. I will always remember the day she came into my office because Christian was griping about having agreed to an interview for the WSU newspaper. He hated interviews and we all knew it, but he respected tenacious people so the asshole that he is, he agreed. It didn't hurt that he wanted to make in roads with Kavanagh Media and the interviewer was going to be the owner's college age daughter, so he reluctantly agreed. We had alert levels for Christian's moods and given his disdain for the media, today with the Kavanagh interview happening at two p.m. we were slowly building to Grey-Con V. Hell, Barney even developed an app for our phones that show the Grey-Con level in the left upper corner at every moment of every day. He has it feeding off Christian's blood pressure, which is monitored by his latest fitness gadget. Have I told you how must I love Barney? He's just fucking awesome! It's hard to keep a straight face when he asks me every Monday what Christian was doing last night as his blood pressure on Sunday nights was generally lower than it had been all week. I would love to say he's getting his brains fucked out, but that would be in appropriate, so I told Barney that was Christian's night to work as a gay male stripper at House of Cocks. Yeah, I'm a mischievous bitch, so sue me.

Little did we know how our lives were going to change because of one interview …


	8. Chapter 8: GEH Apocalypse

**Chapter 8 – GEH Apocalypse**

**Monday, May 9****th****, 2011**

From a historical context there are days that will live in infamy around the world – June 6, 1944 the invasion at Normandy; December 7, 1941 the attack on Pearl Harbor; September 11, 2001 the World Trade Center; you get where I'm going here. Monday, May 9th, 2011 is a date for GEH that will forever be in the hearts and minds of the executive and security staffs at GEH. Granted, compared to the other dates it's nothing, but for those who witnessed it first hand, well, it was nothing short of – I'd say miracle, but it was more like an episode of the mother fucking Twilight Zone.

Christian Grey does not give interviews, unless there is something in it long term for GEH or his charitable efforts. Hell, even then he's hesitant. His major contributions over the past few years at WSU's Agriculture Department left him feeling as if he needed to do this interview – well that coupled with the fact that the interviewer was the daughter of Kavanagh Media. I'd seen the Kavanagh clan at a few events over the past few years – all blondes, all impeccably dressed, smart, confident people who thought their shit didn't stink. I hated assholes like that. I mean really? All shit stinks, well except mine - it's like carnations. Yeah right.

Anyway, Kate Kavanagh, age twenty-one, was coming up from Portland to interview Christian. Taylor had run his standard background check on her and other than she was class valedictorian, dated a bit too much, and was a trust fund kid there wasn't much to be found. It didn't help that I knew for a fact Christian had been sub-less for the past two months, so he'd been growing increasingly grumpy – yes, I'm being extremely polite here. God he's been a fucking asshole. He even spent three hours sparring with Claude Bastille this morning to burn off some of his anxiety, but it didn't make a difference. Now the two were locked away in Christian's office making golf plans, which is another thing that makes Christian into a pissy little bitch. He's competitive and frankly, he can't beat me at golf and I suck at it, or so I'm told. And you know what that means, right? If I suck at it and he can't beat me, then he sucks even more. Yes knowing that makes me smirk even on the worst of days. I'm too much of a bitch to let him beat me so he shuts the fuck up, so yeah we're dealing with one short-tempered motherfucker lately. The Kavanagh interview isn't going to help matters.

I was lucky today. I had an off-site meeting this morning, followed by a lunch date with Gwen. It's our regular Monday date if I get stuck traveling over the weekend. We've been together for three years now and even have three kids – Emma who's two and twins Melanie and Victoria who are four months old. I got lucky because Gwen wanted to carry them and we found the perfect sperm donor, so they have the same biological father and we used Gwen's eggs. The last think I need is a kid with my abrasive personality and the desire to buck the system. As a parent, I am the fucking system. We even have a few more frozen fertilized eggs set aside because we really want to try for a boy down the road. Now I have a real family where my kids will be accepted for who they are, not who they lust after in the future. Scary, I know. I almost sound mature. Fuck no. I'm never growing up. I Ros Bailey will always be a pirate –_ ARGH!_

I can swear at work but not at home anymore. During Gwen's first pregnancy every time I swore I had to contribute to the swear jar but also run two miles on the treadmill. Needless to say, I smoke a pack of cigarettes per day, so that first time I swore I nearly died on that fucking torture device, the fucking treadmill. So far it's made me healthier, less of a potty mouth at home, and just more of a bitch at work. This is now my safe haven for swearing. My Gwen is a stay at home mom now, so between her and the nanny they handle the late night feedings during the week and I pitch in on Friday and Saturday nights. I know I have it easy. It's great because I'm a person that needs my six straight hours of sleep per night or I turn into Regan MacNeil from the _Exorcist_.

Christian is still in shock that we now have three kids. I know at first he was afraid it would affect my work performance, but if anything it made me more organized so I could spend more time at home. I will always remember when Emma was born and the brothers Grimm, Christian and Elliot came to see Gwen and Emma at the hospital. There was nothing funnier than when Gwen passed Emma to Christian and he freaked the fuck out. I swear his hands were shaking until he looked down at her. He smiled, touched her nose, before looking up at us and exclaimed, "Now take her away before I accidentally break her."

Elliot picked her up like it was the most natural thing in the world, rubbed her head, and whispered to her, "Listen to mommy Gwen because mommy Ros is bat poop crazy little one. And when they are both unreasonable, Uncle Elliot will be around to tell them off for you. Trust your Uncle Elliot for he is wise."

Before the kids, Gwen and I spent a great deal of time with Elliot. We'd go out to dinner every Tuesday and Fridays, go clubbing, and just have a great time. When we started searching for a sperm donor, he volunteered, but I just couldn't accept his offer. It's weird enough that my best friend is my boss's brother, but if he ended up as the biological child … father, Freudian slip I apologize, of my kids, well then shit just got really fucking weird. He understood. There have been many days when I had my doubts about that decision. Though Elliot was adopted, unlike Christian, the Grey's had a full medical history for his biological family. It was clean – no mental illness, medical conditions, just nothing. It would have been ideal because we had a known versus a wait-and-see type of situation. I mean, who knows if the sperm donors tell the truth?

Once Emma was born our dinners with Elliot moved to our place. It was still great fun, but we could see Elliot slowly change. Finally, when we announced to him that Gwen was pregnant with twins, he admitted he was tired of being single. He wanted what we had. I get it. Elliot and I are the same age and basically the same person just different physical accouterments. It took me getting shot to realize what I wanted. Here we are a year after Elliot's shocking confession to us and he's still hoping to find someone. Hell, I even tried to fix him up with Andrea but they both scoffed at the idea.

After my lunch with Gwen, I headed back to GEH. Christian's interview was in fifteen minutes and Bastile was still in his office shooting the shit. That's what I like about Claude. I asked him to distract Christian until nearly two to give Andrea a break and it worked out fine. Well, what I thought was fine until I overheard a waif-like brunette at the front reception desk explaining she was here to interview Christian in place of Kate Kavanagh, as Miss Kavanagh was ill.

Based on this girl's appearance, this was a disaster in the making. I'd seen his submissives come and go over the years. I mean, we can see into each other's condos during daylight hours. His submissives were always brunette's, pale skin, and on the short side. Little miss whatever her fucking name is currently standing at the reception desk fits the bill perfectly other than her Wal-Mart attire and messy ponytail. Heck, what the fuck is up with those boots – it's May for God's sake not fucking December. Other than that, from the back she looked good – nice pert little ass, tiny waist, hell, she even had the posture of a submissive.

God I hope she's got an ugly face so we can avoid a situation, so I wait for her to turn around. I catch her name – Anastasia Steele. Who the fuck names their kid Anastasia in this day and age? That name went out with Czar Nicholas ages ago. Anastasia… Anastasia… bet her mother is a piece of work. No wonder the kid appears insecure.

When she finally turns around I'm shocked by her large blue eyes, beautiful features, and fuck her – almost no make up. Who the fuck looks like gorgeous without make up? I sure as fuck don't. She's got a good rack too. She's a ridiculously yummy piece of ass. If I weren't married, I'd do her big time. When the receptionist calls over to security with Miss Steele's driver's license in hand, by the look on Taylor's face there's no missing he's worried. I know he's thinking how fucked they are because he's not only got to run a new background check, but the girl is a textbook Christian Grey submissive, and lastly because Christian doesn't like anything unexpected. I have to make a mental note to ask Elliot if his brother enjoyed Jack in the boxes when he was a kid. The fucking clowns in them scared the crap out of me. I have hated clowns since I saw the movies _It_ and _Vulgar_. I'm just glad Elliot hasn't figured that out or he'd torture me forever.

It takes a few minutes but Taylor comes out to the lobby to get a better look at Miss Steele without approaching her. When our eyes meet, I smirk and text him: _We're so fucking screwed._

He nods and uses his cell phone to call back to reception to send Miss Steele upstairs. Clearly she's nervous and doesn't want to be here. She's fucking shy as all hell too, because when she approaches the elevator there are a few guys there checking her out and all she does is blush repeatedly every time she makes eye contact with any of them before she quickly looks away.

Little Miss Steele is the beginning of the seven signs of the GEH apocalypse:

-Tiny brunette – _CHECK!_

-Flawless pale skin – _CHECK!_

-Fucking hot – _CHECK!_

-Nice rack – REALLY NICE RACK! - _CHECK! CHECK!_ (two boobs, two checks)

-Shy – painfully shy - _CHECK!_

-Seemingly submissive – _CHECK!_

-And finally … she's got a vibe about her that leaves you feeling she's a good kid – _CHECK!_

Yup, Christian is going to be his asshole self and she's going to run out of here in tears. She won't make the full half hour of time allotted for the interview. Just one look at her and you can't miss that she's not a reporter – a librarian maybe, but not a fucking reporter.

I mean, okay, her little skirt is cute and modern, but fuck, she's wearing a flowery shirt even my religious zealot grandma wouldn't wear. She's dressed in fucking layers like the old bag too – ugly flowery shirt, cardigan, and cheap trench coat. She needs to carry an umbrella because a gentle wind will carry her away. She can't be more than five-two, ninety-five pounds. All I want to do is shove some food in her, along with Geritol and calcium supplements. Hell, if I want to feed her, I can almost envision Christian pulling out his collection of food menus like he did when we interviewed Barney and order lunch. There's no way this fine piece of under-dressed tail isn't going to capture Christian's attention. She's shy, too fucking skinny, and just radiates sweetness – he's going to lose his mind over her. I hate to break it to him though, being extremely shy doesn't make her submissive. I've learned that lesson already. Is it wrong that I can't wait to watch this unfold? It's like watching a train wreck. Now all I need is popcorn, a coke, a smoke, and a lounge chair and I'll be ready to be entertained.

I can't help but smirk at Taylor as I take the second bank of elevators up to twenty. Miss Steele is patiently waiting as Andrea scolds Olivia for not offering Miss Steele a beverage. Olivia is a piece of work. She swoons at any decent looking guy who comes around, though she always stares at Christian a little too long. We keep her around because there are certain things she does well – Microsoft Excel and she speaks fluent Japanese because she grew up on an Army base in Japan. If it weren't for those two traits, she'd be pounding the pavement long ago.

Finally Bastile leaves and Andrea shows Miss Steele – like really, who the fuck names their kid Anastasia in this day and age? I know I'm hung up on this but come on. Now I can't help but wonder if the kid has sisters named Gertrude or Zelda or maybe even Winifred. Fuck, my brain is going off on a tangent and I almost miss her falling into his office. She's too perfect looking, so I know I'm a bitch, but it's nice to see Ana_fucking_stasia … I mean, really …well, it's nice to see she isn't all ballerina graceful. Her tumble did provide quite the view of that perfect little round ass. Yeah, Christian's going to lose his mind over her.

"Enjoying the show Ros," Sawyer asks as he stands at my side.

"Who the fuck names their kid Anastasia in this day and age? I mean, come on. That's just fucking stupid," I mutter.

He merely laughs and with a raised eyebrow replies, "Someone named you Rosalyn after a fucking chapel, at least Anastasia is named after a person. Yes, granted it's after a dead person who probably smells or is dust by now, but still they were a living breathing human my dear Rosalyn Enid Bailey."

"You're an ass Sawyer. This from a man whose surname basically indicates that he plays with wood," I counter.

"If you've got it, use it Ros; and needless to say, I've got wood," he laughs.

"You're a fucking asshole Sawyer. I think I love you."

"Just fucking gross Ros. From you I prefer you unmitigated adoration," Sawyer counters as he starts walking away.

"You'll be lucky I don't show your sorry ass to the door."

Frankly, I'm shocked. Ana_fucking_stasia has been in with Christian for twenty-five minutes. Yet when Andrea pokes her head in to advise him of his next meeting, he has her cancel it. I fucking knew it. Is it wrong that I like the sound of Ana_fucking_stasia more than I like hearing myself think or mutter Anastasia? No offense to the girl, I'm sure she's lovely. I just really like the sound of it. Ana_fucking_stasia. Ana_fucking_stasia. Yeah, I can see if I ever meet her face-to-face I'm going to slip and call her that. Hopefully Christian won't be around to bitch at me when I do it.

As Sawyer passes back through the twentieth floor lobby, he sees me still standing there, smirks as he walks by and says, "Wow, nice to see the almighty COO of GEH has absolutely nothing better to do than stand here like a little witch, minus W plus B, Ros."

"Purulent gash," I taunt him. I can't wait to see what he comes back with. He's the only member of the security team that let's his hair down. He's snarky, funny, and just one of the best assholes you'll ever meet. It took me getting shot to break the ice and us to become friends. I'll always feel like I owe him, but he never even mentions the fact that it was him who saved me that night in the parking lot.

"Speaking from experience I'm sure Ros," he snickers as he steps into the elevator. "Later Red!"

I adore him almost as much as I do Elliot. I wish he spent more time here as opposed to traveling around to the GEH companies around the U.S., but then again, if he were here I'd probably accomplish nothing all day. The one thing I will acknowledge is we have a good security team. Welch is just your typical former military guy – straight shooter, blunt, and direct. I'm still waiting to see him really smile. Taylor is similar and taciturn, but when he has something to say to you – look out because it usually means you've fucked up in some way. He's unreadable most of the time, but if you catch him in an unguarded moment, you'll see an almost mischievous smirk about him. I'll bet he's good in the sack, I mean, that's why Mrs. Jones always looks so happy and is so pleasant – she's a satisfied woman.

My revelries are disrupted by Christian's office door opening. The girl, Ana_fuc_- … Anastasia -Anastasia - Anastasia, get it right Ros, looks like she can't get out of here fast enough, especially after Christian helps her with her jacket. Hell, he even accompanies her to the elevator and waits with her. It's even worse than I thought it would be. I have to hide my unmitigated glee, but it's difficult when he bids her goodbye by just saying her name. The best part is when she merely replies _Christian_ in her soft little shy voice he just about comes in his pants.

I head back to my office as I hear Christian on the phone with Welch ordering a background check on the girl. I can't get behind closed doors soon enough and as I slam my door, I can't practically jump up and down like a cheerleader on crack and with glee shout a big, fucking _YES! _After all, everyone deserves their own equivalent to my Gwen.


	9. Chapter 9: My Grey Boys

**Chapter 9 – My Grey Boys**

They say life can change in an instant and I believe that. I mean, I met then wet behind the ears Christian and my life changed for the better. Same thing happened after I got shot, grew up a bit in an instant, and met Gwen – life was awesome. I'd wished the same happiness on Christian, who was like my detached, angry, lost little boy sometimes. You know, the kind you want to both hug with all your might, yet choke to death at the same time. Gotta love him or kill him. If you had told me I'd have to work harder when Christian finally fell in love, lust, or whatever this is, I would have said sure, no problem, but Ana_fucking_stasia flipped his world upside down when she tripped into his office and I saw it immediately – he was glued to his phone waiting on information from Welch, spent more time in Portland than he'd ever spent before, zoned out in business meetings, and if he didn't get his shit together soon I was going to bring in my Electrolux, attach it to his penis, so it can suck him dry and clear his fucking head.

Where's Christian now? Well, Charlie Tango landed on the roof of Escala not that long ago and I saw him and Ana_fucking_stasia walking around his apartment. That man really needs to learn to close his blinds, especially in his bedroom. I know it's wrong, but Gwen and I made popcorn, sat in our darkened bedroom and basically watched them get it on in his bedroom. Hell, we even held up scorecards and rated the action like the Olympics. Hey, he's the one that told me to get blinds, yet he has them and doesn't use them? For someone who loves his privacy, he's an idiot. Fucking hypocrite. Well, a hypocrite with a big dick. Figures. After seeing Elliot au natural, I can't help but wonder if Grace didn't select her boys based on dick size during the adoption process because both men were above average. It's either that or Carrick is packing and that is her sense of normal. No wonder she is so fulfilled and always happy. Just like Gail Jones.

It's not bad enough that I've been putting in fourteen plus hour days since the advent of Miss Steele, but my comedic security foil Sawyer was sent to the Denver office to oversee the new security system installation. Outside of work, Elliot apparently found his own lady in Portland in the form of Ana_fucking_stasia's roommate, Kate _Kittykat_ Kavanagh. Since when was Portland known for prime choice pussy? Did I miss that memo? I mean, I've seen _KittyKat_ Kavanagh at events with her family – she's blonde, confident, smart, and sexy as all fuck. She'll eat my Elliot alive. It should be interesting to watch and pick up the pieces later. He's more invested in his few dates with _KittyKat_ than I've ever seen him. He's got the same stupid look on his face Christian does when he's thinking about her. It's amazing since there is no genetic link between the dolts who now walk around like they are always rocking a chubby.

"Men are fucking saps," I mutter as Gwen walks back into our bedroom.

"I'm sure they were saying that about us as we dated," she countered as she handed me another glass of wine. "Besides, the boys look happy. Don't get me wrong, I hate the hours you're putting in but in the long run it's worth it if two of our best friends are happy or at least well relieved of tension."

"He's handing out diplomas at WSU and his girl is graduating. I hope he loses control and fucks her on the stage before a live audience," I mutter. "It would be the perfect way to come out to the world that he isn't gay."

She laughs. "He'll scar the little children that attend if he does that. So, how many days will you be traveling this week?"

"I leave early Monday morning for a meeting in Chicago that evening, then head the following morning to St. Louis for two days, and I should be back some time Thursday, before heading to London on Sunday for a three and a half-days of meetings because Christian doesn't want his dick to be more than an hour from his precious Ana_fucking_stasia at any given time. Apparently getting laid is more important than GEH right now."

"Don't be bitter. Technically she's got him by the balls right now - literally," Gwen laughs pointing out the window. "You've lived here how long and this is the first girl that actually made it to his bedroom that wasn't his housekeeper cleaning. So come on baby, let's put on a show of our own."

Have I mentioned how perfect my Gwen is? It's show time!

* * *

The picture of Christian with Ana_fucking_stasia from graduation that appeared in the paper a few days later was just awesome. Perfect in every fucking way. Christian was actually smiling and his girl looked like a deer in the headlights. The more I see and hear about her the more I like her. According to Elliot she's sweet, naïve, innocent, and could care less about Christian's financial status. Just perfect on the one hand, but on the other, it would have its challenges. I know being involved with Christian on the business front that security is an issue, so I can only imagine how it will be for Anastasia to adapt to this. Well fuck me and call me holy, I got her name right – Anastasia … Anastasia … there's hope for me yet. Anyway, adapting to Christian's life will be interesting for the Wal-Mart girl. You know he'll insist on burning those clothes and having Neiman's play dress up. The transformation of Anastasia_ fucking_ Steele begins… I like that – Anastasia _fucking_ Steele… it makes her sound like a bad ass.

As part of the BDSM scene in Seattle for years, I'm not stupid, rather I'm astute. I loathe Elena Lincoln and the manipulative control she attempts to exert over Christian outside of GEH. I'm a Dom, well former Dom who married a quiet bookworm with a twisted sense of self. Yes, I'll admit it, my bookworm made me her submissive on so many levels, but I still feel like I wear the boy shorts of the family. Well most of the time anyway and I wouldn't change a fucking thing. See, so there's hope for Anastasia – I hereby predict Annie will get control of Christian's _'gun'_. See, I can be witty and understated. Shit, I just made myself laugh – me understated.

Anyway, back to Elena Lincoln, one of Seattle's _finest_ dominatrix, though I use the term _finest_ loosely. She's full of filler, plastic, peroxide, and most of all shit. Her reputation in the community is she likes them young, hot, smart, yet emotionally damaged, which to me means pliable. I'm not stupid or naïve. I know she got her hands on Christian when he was young. Hell, I'm protective of my little bro Christian so I did my homework before Barney managed to clear the internet of crap on him. Have I mentioned that I, like Christian, am a control freak? All dominants are. I've done my homework on Christian Grey over the years. I know the good, the bad, and the ugly. I'm also sure he knows all of my historical misdeeds. I know about his life before being a Grey, his troubled teenage years, and the complete one-eighty he did at fifteen. I can pull the pieces together and that's why I hate Elena Lincoln.

I know I've seen a dramatic change in Christian since Anastasia fell into his office, so I'm sure the bitch sees it too. I mean the bitch reeks of desperation lately in her attempts to remain in contact with Christian. The more desperate she becomes the closer I come to the big O. It's fucking exciting to watch her panic. Personally, I'm going to push Christian to let me manage the Esclava Salon account just so I have a front row seat. That, plus I'd love to sink my teeth into those books after she's had free reign for years. That, plus the dossier I've built over the years on the bitch will eventually be her undoing and I want a front row seat for that Broadway show. Elena Lincoln is going to be a big thorn in this relationship and I only hope Anastasia Steele has the backbone underneath her meek exterior to handle the bitch. Time will tell.

Tonight both Elliot and Christian are taking their better halves to Bellevue for dinner. I pity the girls having to put up with Carrick and Grace. Mia however is a hyperactive blast. I adore that kid. People think she's a flighty socialite, but I know better. There's a drive underneath that designer clothed exterior but living in her older brother's shadows has to be difficult. I know if I grew up in her shoes, I'd probably have punched them in their faces by now. Yeah, I'm a rabid bitch. I know.

I can see it now. At dinner tonight Grace will be fawning all over Anastasia since until recently she hadn't seen her youngest son with a girl. Elliot however is known for his time with the ladies. Carrick will do his best to be personable while the lawyer side of him will examine her every movement, word, and facial expression. It took him a long time to warm up to me. Hell, I had to get shot before the ice even cracked in his stuffy façade. Now though? I actually like Carrick once you put a few single malt whiskeys in him. Grace too after a few vodka cranberries. Just don't do it when they are together or they get really touchy-feely. It's kind of gross to see old people paw each other. Though it is funny to watch Christian, Elliot and Mia get embarrassed.

_KittyKat_ Kavanagh will have it easy. She's from an upscale family. Hell, her family is richer than Carrick and Grace ever dream of being. Not Christian Grey rich, but not too far behind either. Carrick won't look at her with suspicion because her trust fund is pretty much equal to the value of Grey Construction. That and she's career driven, which I know Carrick likes. His gripes about Elliot's former flings that he'd met were they were just trying to latch on to his son and they were dumber than dirt. I agree there, but Carrick was young once. He had to sow his wild oats back then, right? I mean, he's a good looking guy for pushing sixty, so he must have been really hot in his younger days.

After dinner at the Grey's, Elliot is bringing Kate to the apartment for drinks and a meet and greet. Frankly, I can't wait to meet _KittyKat_ Kavanagh and see if she's good enough for our Elliot. Gwen and I are both protective of the big goofball. If she's some pretentious socialite well, fuck her. She's not good enough for him. He's a down to earth guy and I can't see him with a pretentious bitch. I've been in social situations with the Kavanagh clan over the years. Granted it was mostly with her parents, but her mom is just a socialite's socialite, but a great designer. Her dad, well he's a brilliant guy, rich beyond his wildest dreams, and appears as pretentious as they come. I can't imagine the apple falling too far from the tree; though _KittyKat_'s brother Ethan, who I've met at events, is as laid back and down to earth as they come. He always rocked that surfer vibe – blonde hair that was a it too long, nothing phased him attitude, and I always wondered if the laid back attitude wasn't herbal. He's a smart guy though. A smart guy who needs a nick name – I'll have to think about that one.

I guess I need to give _KittyKat_ the benefit of the doubt until I meet her and form my own opinion. If she's a pretentious bitch, perhaps I can convince her brother to share his alleged herb with her. Maybe I can get him to bake me some brownies… ah yes, memories of high school… Did I mention I baked the best brownies back then? They definitely helped me get through Organic Chemistry class without giving a fuck. It's my one domestic skill other than unclogging a toilet with a load of cherry bombs. Okay, I'll also admit to making the best Long Island Iced Tea this side of the Mississippi.

The elevator pings and immediately I hear Elliot's boisterous voice call out, "Where's my girl?"

"She's asleep where all two year olds should be at nine thirty at night," I hear Gwen inform him sternly. As I head from my office to the main room, I'm almost knocked down by little Emma who bolted from her crib screaming _Uncle El, Uncle El You came to see me!_

How can I be mad at her? She's fucking adorable with her long wavy blonde hair and her little Grey Construction nightgown that Elliot had made for her last month. Hell, the kid has one of every Grey Construction t-shirt ever made along with her own hard hat with the Grey Construction logo on it.

By the time I get to the living room, Emma is in Elliot's arms, _KittyKat_ Kavanagh is laughing with Gwen while she high fives Emma agreeing with her that Uncle Elliot is a cool guy. _ KittyKat_ is more attractive than I remember and that's saying something because I always thought she was hot. I guess this is the first time I've looked at her appraisingly. She has her brother's eyes – intelligent, missing nothing, but kind and mischievous. While she's wearing some expensive threads, she didn't mind getting on the floor to play with Emma when Elliot finally put her down. Granted, he put her down to go wake up Victoria and Melanie – the fucker. Does he have any idea how hard it is to get four-month old twins down for the night? He returns with two squirming, sleepy blonde bundles cooing the entire way. Yup the Bailey-Allen girls love their Uncle Elliot.

"Thanks Els," I inform him. "I hope you intend on staying long enough to put the three of them back to bed and make sure they actually sleep."

He laughs at me – fucker. "I'm an uncle. I come, I play, I kick ass. I do not change diapers or do bed time. Besides, these two were awake in their cribs, so they would have been fussing to get fed at any minute."

As the night goes on Gwen and I like _KittyKat_ more and more. She's down to earth in many ways, smart, and her relationship with Elliot works. Where he's spontaneous to the point of it being ridiculous, she can be spontaneous, yet maintain a certain sense of control. She's definitely going to wear the pants in this relationship and that's what he needs. Not a vacuous blonde who just spends his money and worries about what the tabloid fodder says about her. Kate _KittyKat_ Kavanagh will have no issue telling people to fuck off. I think I love her.

Christian must be having a cow that she's starting an internship as a reporter. He hates the media. It should be fun to watch these two alpha's get along. I learned more about Anastasia, or Ana as _KittyKat _calls her, over the course of the evening. She's a sweet kid just as I thought. She's highly intelligent and wants to work in publishing. Gwen informs _KittyKat_ that she worked in publishing before and if Ana needs help breaking into the Seattle publishing world she'd offer assistance. Little did anyone other than Christian and I know, well maybe Taylor, we were acquiring Seattle Independent Publishing since we knew Ana had an interview there tomorrow. Christian _Control Freak_ Grey – he had more money than sense. Who am I kidding? I would have done the same fucking thing to keep Gwen safe.

Elliot and _KittyKat_, well these two have it bad. I swear they sit side-by-side with their legs always touching. And Ells is heading to Barbados for two weeks, joining _KittyKat_ on a family vacation. I'm happy for him until he asks me to keep an eye on Grey Construction while he's gone and review a few contracts and finalize half a dozen bids that are due in during that time. Reluctantly I agree. I know Grey Construction's business like I know GEH's work. I've helped Elliot out over the years and function as his forensic accountant at year-end. It's amazing how many expensed lunches he's had with clients at strip clubs. Like I don't have enough of my own work to do from GEH. Now I'm juggling both businesses for the next two weeks. Knowing Elliot, he'll want a third week just so he can be alone without her family around. Hell, my Grey boys are in love and I'd sell what's left of my soul for them. They know it too.

* * *

What should have been a routine acquisition of SIP proved to be more interesting than I'd ever imagined. Normal GEH protocol dictates that we run a detailed background check on all employees as the second order of business after we look at their financials and growth potential. SIP's biggest financial issue was for the past five years they couldn't close a deal with a best selling author to save their lives, they also weren't forward thinking in their talent search either in Gwen's expert opinion, they also weren't up to date on the latest e-publishing technology. They weren't keeping up with the latest trends on both the technology and reader preference fronts. That's just the tip of the iceberg where SIP was concerned. Frankly their HR policies and actions were appalling. Turnover in certain positions happened at an alarming rate and this is where I had Welch and Taylor begin their digging.

I closed the deal with SIP while Christian was in Savannah chasing Ana and I was on my way back from London, which is a good thing because Christian really wanted SIP. It enabled me to add a few lines into the contract at the last minute that involved caveats such as:

(1) GEH reserves the right to retroactively investigate and act on past human resource complaints with any monetary damages owed by SIP coming from the purchase price of the company. For this reason, 25% of the purchase price will be held in an interest earning account and shall be turned over to the ownership trust exactly one year after the acquisition date;

(2) GEH reserves the right to litigate against any contractors and employees who have defrauded SIP in the past two years;

(3) A moratorium of thirty business days is in place regarding the acquisition of SIP by GEH commencing on the first official day of GEH ownership.

Sue me. I'm a bitch, but I know there is more going on at SIP than meets the eye. But since Christian wants this acquisition done virtually overnight, I have to put in the financial safeguards my gut is screaming about and it's screaming like it's the morning after free dozen slider night at White Castle. Yeah, I'll never eat White Castle again – once was more than enough thank you very much.

It didn't surprise me when Ana was offered the job at SIP. I looked back through the HR files of the interns that worked for Jack Hyde, Senior Fiction Editor. They were all young, attractive, single women with nice racks. Naturally none of them in the past two years lasted more than a month or two, so I knew I'd be making regular visits to SIP over the next thirty business days. You know, act as a new HR rep and see how people were enjoying working for the company and how we can make it better.

That had been my plan, but when I arrived back in the office on Friday Christian was a fucking nervous wreck, Taylor wasn't much better, and Sawyer was back from installation exile in Denver. And Anastasia Steele? Well, she was still in Savannah. I know Gwen had mentioned security seemed to tighten around Escala, the Grey family in general, and our apartment per Christian's orders overnight but we didn't have details. My Gwen was worried, so I needed to find out what the hell was going on.

Have I mentioned that I'm a god unholy bitch when I don't get my beauty sleep? Four days and nights in a fucking London hotel room don't help. It doesn't matter that it was a five star hotel room. I only sleep decently in my own bed, so it's not surprise when I walk into GEH in the morning, or at the very least my festering mood shouldn't be a surprise to Christian and the security team, when I barge into his office during his eight a.m. security briefing with Welch, Taylor, and Sawyer. I know I look like shit – dark circles under my eyes, hair out of place, jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers fresh off my very long flight from London. Hell, I haven't had a day off in weeks. I'm fucking exhausted.

"What the fuck is going on that caused my families' security to be tightened? It would have been nice to have been told what the fuck is going on and not touch down at the airport this morning to a worried wife who now has two CPOs at the condo watching her every move."

The four men just look at me sternly. Oh fuck this! "Spill it Grey or I'm walking. You know I'm part of the in crowd where your life and this company are concerned and vice versa. No secrets here. Just tell me what the fuck is going on and if I need to be worried about my family."

"Sit down Ros," he orders. All I do is cross my arms defiantly. I'm too fucking tired to follow his lead. "Sit the fuck down Ros before you fall down." Yeah, I must really look like shit. Hell, I feel like I'm swaying standing here. I'm fucking tired.

I glance at Taylor, who merely nods and I take a seat to join the conversation. Christian explains about his former _'female friend' _gone off the deep end. Taylor's words were bat shit crazy. She showed up at Escala like a mad woman asking why Ana and not her. Of course she didn't know Ana's name because it's still not public, but still, it's obvious the woman is more of a threat to Ana or even herself than to my family. When Christian explains that the woman slashed her wrists at the penthouse last night in front of Gail Jones I venture another glance in Taylor's direction and beneath the impassive façade, his anxiety is apparent. He was in Savannah so the boss can get his rocks off while his lady was dealing with fall out from Christian's soon to be former lifestyle and she was pretty much defenseless. Heck, I'm surprised Taylor didn't beat the crap out of Christian. I know in his shoes, I would have if it had been Gwen in Gail's shoes.

What a fucking disaster in the making this shit is. Sawyer's here to watch over Ana, but the reality is someone has to watch over _KittyKat_ as well since they live together. Now I hope Ells keeps her in Barbados for an extra few weeks. I won't bitch about having to run Grey Construction in his place ever again.

This fucking mess is all Elena Lincoln's fault for setting Christian up with unstable submissives who she could manipulate for information when Seattle is full of female submissives that meet Christian's requirement. You know, normal people leading stressful lives who need to give up control for a few days per week. I know as in my pre-Gwen days, all of my subs were lawyers, doctors, dentists, and businesswomen who wanted nothing more than to not think and enjoy some kink. Mohammed Ali has nothing on my in terms of my rhymes! Those were good times, though oddly, I don't miss them.


	10. Chapter 10: The Toxic Avenger

_**Author's Note**__**: This is the chapter that deals with the 5-day break up of Christian & Ana after the belt incident, so readers be forewarned: it's actually a more serious chapter (for once). There really wasn't any way around it.**_

* * *

**Chapter 10 – The Toxic Avenger**

One thing I will say about Christian is when he worked with Elliot to design and build Grey House, he took care of his number one bitch at that time – me. We'd been together long enough at the time of the build that he knew my preferences in terms of office style, layout, etc… Sue me. I'm a creature of habit in terms of what goes where. My office sits next to Christians. The only things separating them are two large, luxury bathrooms, and a shared kitchenette. My private bathroom, which in a business setting you'd think was just a commode and sink, actually contains a large shower and separate soaking tub. I mean, I remember thinking – who the fuck needs a soaking tub at work? Answer: _I FUCKING ABSOLUTELY DO!_ I've used that thing on really bad days where I was stuck here until nearly midnight. Hell, Gwen and I have done all kinds of things in that bathroom and my office in general.

When it came to office furniture, well Christian had to have his way. He wanted to set the look of Grey House and especially our offices – _the controlling fucker_. Well, at least that's what I thought at the time. Frankly, my office is stunning. He hired a master carpenter to custom design not just the desks but all of the cabinets, chairs and each of our offices have a floor to ceiling, eight-foot wide, hand-carved art piece. Mine is stunning and features a tree-filled landscape surrounding a large, log cabin bar with the name Bailey's Pub as its logo. Yeah, I had confided to Christian a few years back that when I retired I wanted to open my own pub – all sports, all the time, with my own craft beers. I'm a simple girl. Christian's piece has three different city panorama's carved into it – Seattle with the Space Needle front and center; New York with the Empire State Building front and center; and finally London with Big Ben front and center. These were the locations of GEH's main offices at the time. If he commissioned the works now he'd need to add Singapore and Barcelona.

_Back on track Ros_ – so these massive pieces of art, while beautiful, to me seemed a pointless expenditure. When Christian and Elliot took me on the original tour of the completed offices the night before we officially moved in, I remember thinking – well, that's lost square footage. Boy was I wrong. You see, Christian and I spent a ridiculous amount of time at work – early mornings, late nights, and hell, sometimes middle of the night conference calls due to time differences around the world. Both of us have slept on our respective office couches too many times in the early GEH years. I will always remember sitting behind my desk for the first time at Grey House and looking at the over-the-top remote control on my desk. Have I mentioned Christian loves technology almost as much as he loves his dick? It controlled the shades, the monitors, the lights, the sound system, and much to my surprise – the bed. I'm talking about his remote, not his dick, though if he could control those items with his dick, he would. Why you ask? Because he's a typical man in so many ways it's not funny. Frankly, I would love to see that happen just to see the look on the hetero ladies in the room jaws drop when he whips out his dick to change slides. It would be spectacular. But I digress as I once again allow my twisted imagination to rule. And now back to the art pieces. You see, Christian had murphy beds built into these pieces for those nights where it was easier to remain in the office than run home, sleep for an hour, shower, and then head back. Hell, he even had two bedrooms build for the security team and one for Taylor in particular off the main security area. See he thinks of everything.

And Bailey's Pub you ask? Well, it's the name of the shared kitchenette and features a fully functional, but small kitchen, and a larger bar with all the amenities. Needless to say, Christian, Andrea, and I have celebrated one too many deal signings downing high-end hooch at Bailey's. It was there that we learned our Miss Andrea worked her way through college as a bartender. Naturally we learned it from Sawyer, who was more than happy to share pictures of his cousin from her bartending days. They were shocking. You see, here at Grey House, she's put together like the perfect ice queen business woman, but back then she wore a push up bra, ripped t-shirt that accented her partially exposed mounds, shorts that left little to the imagination, fuck me heels, and her long blonde hair, which I had never seen down from it's standard up do before, was down, wavy, sexy and she was smoking hot. I'm talking, sex on a stick hot. I mean,_ SCHWING_ hot if I had a penis. If I had Christian's penis I'd be lucky to not poke my eye out. Holy fucking shit, the queen bee, as I called her, oozed raw sexuality. Yeah, I will admit to looking at Andrea differently now.

It turns out that in one year her tips were enough to pay for four years of college plus living expenses, yet she did it for four years and only quit the day she got her degree. I had to ask why. Her reply was simple, at the end of four years I had enough money to live my dream, head to the Big Apple, and not worry too much about money. When she got the job in health care, she immediately plunked down a two hundred thousand dollar deposit on a two-bedroom New York City condo and was happy for the longest time there. I'd bet our Miss Andrea could make more as a businesswoman/stripper than she could Grey's personal assistant. I mean she's that fucking hot once she lets her hair down. Gwen and I are going to have to go clubbing with her. True it's only so I can be seen with two smoking, hot blondes on my arm but fuck me, I'm vain.

Friday, after being informed by Christian, Taylor, and Sawyer of the security issues at Escala, I went to my office, took a long hot bath with a glass of wine in hand, and called Gwen. Yes, I know it's nine a.m., but technically I'm on London time so it's the afternoon there. An hour later I felt like me again and was ready to work, or so I thought. I remember being woken up by a smirking Christian with my head on my desk and the aroma of my favorite chicken parm hoagie filling the room.

"Jesus Ros, this is why I put a fucking bed in your office," Christian scolded me. "You look like shit and it's my fault."

I merely glared at him before replying, "Is that how you compliment the fair Ana_fucking_stasia?"

"Ana_fucking_stasia?" he bellows.

Yeah, he's not happy with me. Fuck him. I'm beyond caring at this point. All I do is smile at him for a few seconds, then add, "It's my nickname for her because she's the badass who has you walking on marbles. She's your Gwen. Hell, she's even a bookworm like my Gwen from what I hear. Plus you are happy almost all the fucking time now. At first it was creepy, but I think I've gotten used to it." _Good save Ros!_ _I wish I could high-five myself right now._

"Fuck you Ros," he laughs before sitting across from me and doling out our lunch.

"I'll pass Christian because frankly, you don't do it for me and I'd hate to castrate you just when you finally seem happy."

The look he gives me for an instant reminds me of a shy little boy. It's fucking adorable, but gone way too soon before he goes back into the quasi-laidback Christian I see occasionally. "You're working too fucking hard. Clearly you aren't thinking straight. I'd apologize because it's my fault but we both know I don't do apologies."

He has the nerve to laugh but at least he appears contrite. "Yeah, well, I'm staging a coup here at Grey House. I'm planning on renaming it Bailey's House and changing the company name from GEH to Beh because it reflect my attitude – just _beh_!"

I spend lunch bringing him up to speed on London and a few other deals we have in the works. At this point I know I need to voice my concerns about SIP, but knowing that his girl is about to start working there on Monday makes it a bit harder, especially since her boss will be the asshole I'm most concerned about there. "Let's talk SIP."

He nods but shows more interest on this topic than he did on London. _Yup, he's got it fucking bad._ "The HR issues there are my biggest concern. I have Welch digging around on a few people and Barney trolling through their servers like a nano-bot on crack. Intern turnover is too high when it comes to a few of the editors. I mean, normally interns come in work six months to a year and the good ones are hired and the rest leave at the end of the internship for other pursuits. That's the norm in publishing. The turnover rate at SIP is ridiculously high."

Those grey eyes can pierce my soul as he just stares at me waiting. "What aren't you telling me Ros?"

I sigh. "There are two editors there who have higher than standard turn over – Jill Barkley, who is a demanding bitch to work for if the rumors are correct, and Jack Hyde, who has had a dozen interns in the past two years. All have quit in a matter of weeks stating that Hyde was wonderful to work for but publishing wasn't for them. Oddly enough, most of them work in publishing today at different houses around the country. I've checked on a few and Hyde gave them glowing recommendations. I'm concerned because your Anastasia is going to be working for Jack Hyde."

"So I take it you've met him in your trips over to SIP?"

"Just once. He thought I was a management consultant hired by Roach. He seems nice enough but there's something off about him. It could be that I have an issue with ponytail wearing men, but he just creeps me the fuck out. I could be wrong about him, but he makes my skin crawl."

I watch as he runs his hands through his hair. After the Escala incident this was the last thing he needed to hear, but fuck me, I had to warn him. When I contacted Welch and Barney, I cc'd Taylor and Sawyer on the email, so they knew of my concerns but they were waiting to say anything to Christian until Welch and Barney finished their digging.

"So what do we know so far about this Hyde character?" he asks.

"He's a few years older than you. He's worked at SIP for three years. He's originally from Michigan and moved here for the SIP job after working his way up from intern to editor at a publishing house in Detroit. He's supposedly excellent at his job – according to Roach, he's the top editor there. In terms of his personal life, he's single, unattached, heterosexual, who lives in a small, three-bedroom ranch down in Federal Way. He doesn't have a criminal record that we can find as an adult, though there are sealed juvenile records, but otherwise nothing."

"So on paper as an adult he appears normal, but your gut tells you where there's smoke, there's fire?" Christian queries.

"Yup."

"Let's have everyone keep digging just in case."

"Already on it boss," I taunt him as he cringes at the word. He hates it when I call him boss. As he gets up to leave, I can't resist, "Say hello to Ana_fucking_stasia for me. I can't wait to meet your better half. I hear great things about her from Elliot and Kate."

* * *

That was Friday - a day that ended with me full of hope that Christian might finally be happy. Hell, I was thrilled for him and grinning like a psychopath at the thought. As I've said, I love my Grey boys. By Monday morning I knew something was wrong because Christian pulled a no call, no show at the office. Taylor called Andrea and mentioned that he wouldn't be in and to reschedule his meetings. Normally when Christian has a major schedule change he calls me, but nothing. Naturally, I assumed he was locked in his bedroom all day with Anastasia. I was wrong.

When Tuesday was a repeat of Monday, I called Christian's cell phone repeatedly, but it went straight to voicemail. I then called Taylor who firmly stated that Christian was under the weather and wouldn't be in. No one does detached like Taylor does, but the concerned undertone to his voice caught my attention. I knew something was wrong. So what do I do? I head to SIP for an impromptu visit, as I know Miss Steele began working there yesterday. Have I mentioned that I'm pushy? I'm nosey too. I scheduled a new employee luncheon at SIP to see how all the new hires in the past month are enjoying their time there. As a management consultant, it technically could be considered part of my job to see what can be done to improve SIP, so fuck everyone as I'll do what I want thank you very much. Yes, I agree, Christian Grey made the biggest mistake of his life when he handed this nosey bitch access to background checks and power. So today I would unofficially meet Anastasia Steele.

At eleven-thirty I arrive at SIP and commandeer a conference room on Roach's floor. Lunch is delivered just before noon, and my guests arrive promptly at noon. There's Hannah Jeffries a new administrative assistant who has been at SIP for just under four weeks, Lynn Michelis an intern in the non-fiction section, Robert Hanimon who is an intern in the graphic design department, and entering last is Anastasia Steele, my true purpose for being here today. The first thing I notice is she looks tired. No amount of make up is going to hide the dark circles under her eyes. I'm glad I have a point of reference to how she normally looks, because otherwise I might have missed it. She also looks sad, withdrawn, and dare I say it, but thinner than her normally tiny frame. So this is why Christian is out. The shit hit the fan somehow with Miss Steele. My mind races as I robotically go through my practiced spiel about being a management consultant hired to make SIP a better place and the number one publishing house in Seattle. I'm flinging so much bullshit I can almost smell it. Either that or Hanimon passed gas. I wish I had a cork for his ass.

I spent an hour with Anastasia in that conference room as I tried to solve the puzzle of what went wrong between them. Did that cunt Elena Lincoln interfere? All I want to do to that woman is tell her to fuck herself and the submissive she rode in on. I know I saw her show up in her gash-mobile at Escala on Saturday afternoon. Fuck, I hate that bitch. My mind then ventured to the former sub and I couldn't help but wonder if she had something to do with this. Nothing surprises me anymore. What does that say about me? Who the fuck knows but it's something to dwell upon during my next business trip when I'm bored out of my gourd at yet another five-star hotel. My final musing as I sit here is I wondered if Christian cut off his own nose to spite his face. In the end, that's the one I settled on as being fact. Why you ask? Well that's a story unto itself in the saga of Gwen and Ros.

Have I told you that when it comes to Gwen I'm insecure? Well, at first I was anyway. You see, I'm a female version of Elliot Grey – never a serious relationship, fluttering from woman-to-woman, but there is my Christian Grey dominant side too. You see, falling in love with Gwen, it was easy to not look at other women because I had everything I'd ever wanted in one neat, blonde, hot, adventurous little package. Screw all the other women. I had the perfect one and that left me insecure, because I'm far from perfect.

To understand my insecurity, you need to understand my need to be a dominant. Trust me when I say, I have more layers than Shrek and many of them are royally fucked up, though tightly packed. He may be an onion, but I Ros Bailey am a shallot – yes I'm sweeter. _Fuck I just made coffee shoot out my nose just thinking that shit. Sometimes I crack myself up._ Back to my god-fearing parents, who are going to hell when they finally depart this realm. They drilled it into my head from an early age that I was unworthy of god's love because of my sexual orientation. Hell, I knew early on I was gay and I'm sorry, but I didn't hide it. I mean, why hide the real me? Well, said biological parental units didn't appreciate it as it was embarrassing for them to have an abomination as a daughter, their fucking words, in the eyes of the Lord. Yeah, being raised with religious zealots as parents was challenging, especially during my teenage years when their cult-leading pastor had them try to beat the gay out of me. Needless to say, it didn't work. At least I didn't grow up in that fucked up town in the movie Footloose where you couldn't listen to modern music and dance. No one can tell us lesbians that we can't dance. It's our thing. Granted some of us aren't as graceful as others, but we don't allow that to stop up. No Sir!

I know, I know. I got sidetracked yet again. And now back to the glimpse into the fucked up world that made me who I am today – the over the top, badass lesbian who has it all. There is nothing worse than being raised in a house where men ruled and women had no say. I hated my fucking father with a passion, but I also hated my spineless mother almost as much for allowing it. She didn't pick her own clothes or make decisions. He ordered, she obeyed. Did I believe in a god back then? I did. Hell, it was all I knew. Let me rephrase that – it was how I was raised as an infant – believing there was a God, and by my teenage years it had been effectively drilled into my red-head that he loathed me.

After that, my first question to my parents and their pastor after they tried to brutally exorcise the lesbian tendencies from me was: how do they know that their god is in fact a male? After all, it's women who bring life on this earth, not men, so how did their god birth man? To me, well, it was a simple enough question. Pure logic. The pastor slapped me right across my face. I slapped him back. I was sixteen at the time. I was thrown out on the street by the assholes to fend for myself. Is it wrong that at the time I felt relieved?

I've always been good at taking care of myself, which was helpful. I had been working for six months before being excised from my family home like a boil on the ass of society, so I had some money saved. I was also fortunate that my then math teacher understood the challenges I faced at home. After all, he was a fifty-year old gay man whose partner of twenty-five years died of cancer the year before. He took me into his home and set me up in the small basement studio apartment he normally rented to college students. I adore that man and always will. He didn't charge me rent, didn't judge me, fed me, and for the first time in my life, I had someone who really understood and accepted me. To me, he is my real father. I was where I truly belonged.

Every year one of us travels to the other's home for Thanksgiving. Emma calls him grandpa and he loves it. Gwen and I both call him dad, which makes him teary-eyed. He got me through my last two years of high school, but he was strict. I had a hard ten p.m. curfew. He checked my homework and made sure I studied. He did my SAT prep at the house so I was ready when I took the test. That man is the reason I got a full ride to Stanford. If you had told me that I'd call Mr. Brian Bailey, dad one day, I'd throw you in a straight jacket, but in every way, shape, and form, he's my real dad. Parents are supposed to love and nurture their kids unconditionally. Mine didn't, but Brian did. In the two years I lived in his house before college he was the best fucking father a girl could ever have. He even helped me get emancipated. For the first time in my life I felt nurtured, but all that nurturing doesn't completely remove the damage done by the bio-parents. It's always there simmering under the surface waiting to undermine the logical side of you. It sucks but it's reality. Brian taught me to separate the two so the impact would be minimal and it works the bulk of the time, but every so often I fail miserably and it bites me in the ass.

So now imagine the shit fit I threw when Gwen was offered a higher position at Harper Collins, which would move her back to New York City after we'd been dating for six weeks. I was already head over heels for her and the thought of her heading out east made me ill. To say I freaked out was an understatement. To add to it that I felt out of control, well that was just a massive given. When I went all Dom on her ass and ordered her to not even consider taking the job, well, quiet, bookwormish Gwen told me and I quote: _'If you think you can pull that Dom shit with me you are sorely mistaken. If you don't cut that crap out, I'll be the one doing the spanking and I promise you it won't be enjoyable.'_

Can you see why I love her now? Yes, she walked out on me right after she said that and I went out like an asshole and got rip roaring drunk at the _WildRose_, but you know what? Though I was hit on over and over again while there, I just couldn't even flirt with anyone. I woke up the next morning in Elliot's guest bedroom with a hangover that made me wish my head would explode already. When I finally crawled out of bed and headed to the kitchen for coffee, still dressed in the clothes from the night before, I found Elliot and Gwen eating breakfast and laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. After the smell from their sausage and egg breakfast sent me running to bow before the porcelain god, I headed back their way only to find Elliot now gone and Gwen waiting for me with her arms crossed defiantly.

"Sometimes you're an ass," she informed me. "You went off the deep end because I had a job offer. You didn't even think to ask me what I thought about the job and potentially moving. You just decided to put your foot down. Well Ros, guess what? We've been dating for less than two months. We're not living together, we're not married; hell, we live separate lives when we're not together. Where do you get off telling me what to do? That Dom shit has got to be restricted to the bedroom because I'm sorry, even if we were living together or married, you wouldn't be able to tell me what to do. We'd discuss decision jointly and come to a conclusion together. That's how relationships normally work. Do I make myself clear?"

All I could do was nod. It's not often that I'm rendered speechless. In my eyes, I viewed myself as the leader in the relationship. I mean, that's how dominants think – we are kings of the world. Needless to say, Gwen kicked the soapbox from under my feet and allowed me to verbally tighten my own noose around my neck. Everything I could have said wrong, I did. And yes, I did say it repeatedly and felt that noose tightening. I told her I was in charge, and that she would have to listen to me if this relationship was going to work. I mean, I was desperate because at work I had to cede some of my precious control to Christian as I recognized that in our business relationship that he was the dominant and fuck that realization almost killed me. I think I knew it the instant that I met him, which is why I tested his patience for those first two weeks and then met him on my terms. I took control of him the only way I could. _Note to self: apologize to Christian for being an asshole back then._

Gwen handled my stupidity really well that day. When I finally took one foot out of my ass and the other out of my mouth, she basically told me that I had a decision to make – either be a dominant without her or a true partner with her. The choice was mine, so technically I had the illusion that I was in control. She gave me a twenty-four hour deadline. Then she went home. Yes I know, don't say it. I'm well aware that she's the true dominant in our relationship. Trust me, I know, I know.

It was the worst twenty-four hours ever! I'll admit to calling my dad Brian and crying my eyes out. Yeah, me crying, I know it's hard to imagine, but fuck, I felt like my world just fell apart. Dad basically told me to get my head out of my ass, wipe the shit from my eyes, and follow my heart rather than my damaged head. Have I said that I love him yet? I really, really do. As to Gwen, well, we all know what decision I made as we're married with three kids and living in Seattle. Seeing Anastasia visibly depressed and Christian MIA, I couldn't help but feel he was experiencing his own meltdown as he was at the fork in the road – be a dominant twenty-four seven in all things or let go of some of his precious control to really let someone into your heart and life as a partner.

Wednesday Christian showed up to the office looking like shit, yet amazingly still all kind of hot. If you'd told me that _Mr. GQ_ could look even hotter with unshaven stubble, I would have called you an idiot. I may be gay, but I can recognize a good-looking guy when I see one. They don't make me all juicy in my pussy but I can identify above average looks regardless of gender. For example: Christian, Sawyer, Taylor and Elliot are hot. Welch is not. See, I'm the next Dr. Seuss, but not meant for small children. Come to think of it, neither was he in his personal life from what I've heard.

Today is the day I go dominant on Christian Grey's pathetic ass. I had Gwen and Brian do it for me, so the least I can do is pass on the painfully earned knowledge. I barge into his office to find him once again with Welch, Taylor, and Sawyer but his heart isn't into this security briefing. "Okay boys, get the fuck out of here now," I order them. Amazingly they don't even look at Christian for confirmation they just leave. Taylor though gives me a nod.

"Good morning Christian," I greet him as I serve myself a cup of coffee from the kitchenette before planting my pert ass on the seat across from him. "Guess what today is?"

"What Ros? I really don't have time for this shit," he snaps at me.

"Well fuck you Christian, you're going to sit there like a good little boy and benefit from my wisdom whether you like it or not. Do I make myself clear?" I'm in full-on Dom mode now. Fuck him the little plebe.

He nods uncertainly.

"Look at me when I talk to you dammit," I order. Once he does I proceed to tell him about that horrible twenty-four hours that was my shit or get off the pot moment with Gwen. He listens and as my story goes on, his interest has actually increased. _Yup, I nailed it._ When I finally finish my story, I drop my Dom alter ego. "What I'm trying to tell you Christian is to truly let Anastasia into your life, you're going to need to let some stuff go – the first being some of your control. Life is like a rollercoaster ride – sometimes it's fun, sometimes it's exciting, sometimes it's intense, but going on a rollercoaster alone is boring because you don't have anyone to share the experience with. After that day with Gwen, I cleaned up the bullshit in my life. I felt truly liberated from my zealot parents' upbringing for the first time ever. Heck, I felt like the real me was coming out. It's been an amazing experience. It's your choice, but should you embrace the lighter side as I have, its time to become the _Toxic Avenger_ and get rid yourself of the Chernobyl-like people in your life once and for all. I'm not saying it will be easy because for me it wasn't. I had to look at everything from this new and improved point of view and frankly, it made me realize how utterly stupid I was in the past with regard to the people I allowed into my life. My best decisions were my Brian-dad, you, Elliot, and Gwen, the rest, well, let's just say I allowed my damaged side rule and the day I chose Gwen was the last time I allowed that to happen."

I watched him for a few moments. He looked like he was processing everything. Finally he asked, "Was it truly worth it?"

All I could do is smile. "More than you'll ever know." I got to my feet and head toward the door, stopping as I gripped the doorknob and returning my attention to him. "Your girl is at SIP and looks as miserable as you do my friend. It's time for you to shit or get off the pot."

"Thanks Ros," he mumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Have fun at the gallery in Portland tomorrow night," I added with a smirk as I walked out the door.

It didn't surprise me to see both Taylor and Sawyer hovering near Andrea's desk waiting for me. I merely smiled at them, muttered that I've been in his shoes, and headed back to my office. Try as they might, the two burly guys feel protective over Christian, even with his flaws. _I love my patched together GEH family._


	11. Chapter 11: Charlie Tango's Wild Ride

**Chapter 11- Charlie Tango's Wild Ride**

Having a kid can cramp a person's style. Having three kids under the age of three pretty much decimates it. Gwen and I were dressed and ready to head to the Coping Together Masked Ball at Bellevue. It would be my official chance to meet the one and only, Ana_fucking_stasia Steele as the bosses girlfriend, and observe Christian lose his fucking mind in my presence. We look great all decked out in our finest couture. Hell, I even sprung for a Carolina Herrera Halter Gown in dark blue. Even Gwen says I look boobalicious – _D cups baby, D cups_. My Gwen is going to turn heads in her Donna Karan Cowl Back gown in dark rose. It's the hottest she's ever looked, which is saying something as she's given birth to three kids in two years and it's given her killer curves. Have I mentioned kids can cramp your fucking style? God forbid we can get out of the house on date night without an incident. I've pretty much accepted that it's not possible. That way, I'll never be disappointed.

Parenting lesson learned this fine evening: Never pick up a 4-month old to kiss them good-bye when you are wearing a four thousand plus dollar dress because said dress is a magnet for baby vomit. Did I mention twins are twice the fun and twice the puke? Our dry cleaner is going to hate us tomorrow.

Needless to say, we never made it to Bellevue. We did spend the night in the ER when the kids didn't stop puking. It was definitely not a fun night watching them get IV fluids before being discharged the following morning. It was even less fun when ten hours later both Gwen and I were fighting over the closest bathroom for puking rights. _Fucking parenthood. Who am I kidding? I love my family more than life itself._

Come Monday morning the mood around the security office is tense. Taylor and Sawyer both are tight-lipped, but they both radiate a sense of escalating frustration. I know better than to ask, as they won't tell. Sawyer may have a sense of humor, but he takes his job seriously. And Taylor, well, he's just a cone-head of silence when he needs to be. As much as it pisses me off to not know something, I have to let it go, which really sucks ass. Little did I know that this would be one of the worst weeks of my life by the time it was all said and done.

For the first two days I'm run ragged between GEH and Grey Construction's bids. If I had known that Elliot had only compiled estimated construction costs for his upcoming bids but hadn't begun the tedious paperwork before his little trip to Barbados, I wouldn't have agreed to help him out. There's nothing worse than putting in a twelve-hour day at GEH and having to go home to complete three detailed bids that are due by noon the next day to be considered as a contractor.

My beauty sleep is completely fucked. I know the dark circles under my eyes make me look like a ginger-headed raccoon. Fuck, I'm tired. By the time nine-thirty comes around, Christian is bellowing for me. It turns out that Hyde at SIP wants Anastasia to accompany him to a conference in New York later in the week. Yeah, like that's really going to happen. I have a better chance of getting gang-banged by the Grey brothers than she does of going to New York with Hyde.

Christian has me mosey my sweet ass over to SIP to meet with Roach and put spending restrictions in place, thereby negating the approval for Ana's trip. Afterward, I'm sitting in the HR office meeting with Elizabeth Morgan following up on the recent new hire feedback and getting a glimpse of how their performance has been so far. I also want to schedule time to meet with the existing staff by department for their opinions on what can be done better at SIP. Putting a face to a resume is something I like to do. It helps me form a more complete picture of the person behind the experience. For example, Miss Morgan has been working in HR at SIP for four years. She's attractive. She's reasonably competent, but odd. I can't put my finger on exactly what it is about her that's odd, but we dysfunctional people can smell our own kind.

I'm thrilled that Miss Steele is performing well so far. Granted it's only been a short time since she started at SIP, but the thought of Christian ending up with an underperforming idiot makes me cringe. So far, she's been exceptional according to her editor, Jack Hyde. I can't help but wonder if her preliminary reviews were written by Jekyl, and the real Mr. Hyde comes out later. All I know is the man gives me a major case of the creeps – kind of like erect penis's do. Who am I kidding, any penis does. Just gross. Please don't get me started on circumcised vs. uncircumcised. I shudder at the thought.

As I'm making a follow up appointment with Miss Morgan's assistant, Mr. Creepy barges through to her office and immediately starts bitching about Miss Steele not accompanying him to New York. He's bitching like a ten year old that had his favorite toy taken away. I feel relieved that Anastasia isn't accompanying him to the Big Apple. At least I accomplished something today worthwhile.

Tomorrow I'm going to be inundated with more Grey Construction paperwork because I texted Elliot to check his fucking email because of questions on yet another round of bids. Ethan Kavanagh is due back in Seattle from Barbados and he's supposed to deliver all of the final documents with Elliot's signature on them for the official bids on projects where the assholes seeking the bids aren't tech-savvy so they want everything nicely printed out rather than electronically. I fucking hate that antiquated shit. Having Barney at GEH the past few years has spoiled me rotten and given me something else to bitch about. When I bitch to Barney, his reply is generally: _now you know how I feel dealing with you sub-humans all the time_. God I love that kid. Little by little, I'm rubbing off on him.

Less than forty-eight hours later, Christian's missing submissive held Anastasia at gunpoint and the next day Hyde attacked her in the SIP kitchen. I saw the video. She punted his testicles back into his body and made them ovaries, before Taylor pounded the rest of him. I have to hand it to little Miss Steele, she kept her cool when it was necessary and did all the right things. I can't help but feel Christian's sexy little chickadee is a magnet for all the bullshit in Christian's life. I mean, crazy submissive? Okay, one out of just over a dozen is still too high or a percentage. It's fucking nuts. Though when I think about what' I've seen in the clubs over the years, it might not be too outrageous considering the supply line – Elena Lincoln. I hear Anastasia calls her _Mrs. Robinson_. I think I'm going to like Ana when I finally officially meet her as a friend of Christian's and not a stern management consultant.

The entire Jack Hyde situation was unfortunate. Christian bought SIP to protect Anastasia and it's a good thing he did. I mean, what would have happened to her if he hadn't? She would have ended up in New York and after seeing some of the videos they found on this computer the poor kid would have been emotionally damaged for life. What a sick fuck he is. Is it wrong that I'm growing attached to Miss Steele? I mean, she's important to Christian and he's important to me. He's acting younger. He's happy, other than when all the bullshit is going on. It's awesome to see this side of him emerging. Hell, even the security team is happier. Yeah, I'll bow to Miss Steele's feet one day. These changes are all her. God I love that bitch!

Finally after four days of bullshit it's Friday. Christian is dragging my sorry ass to a breakfast meeting in Portland because of a funding issue at WSU. I warned him about it last week, but he's been so consumed with Anastasia _fucking_ Steele and her magical vagina that he didn't listen. I swear, all the blood must be in the gargantuan-sized dick of his because his brain's oxygen supply has been depleted of late.

He promised we'd be back in the early afternoon and we could call it an early end of the week. I'm thrilled. Elliot and_ KittyKat_ are also due to arrive from Barbados early this afternoon, so I can hand him back all his Grey Construction crap. I need a fucking vacation. This weekend all I'm going to do is play with the kids, sleep, and get down, dirty, and kinky with my wife or as she calls our planned adventure -_ no rest for the wicked._

I've flowing in Charlie Tango before, but every time it was Joe flying. This is the first time Christian is piloting with me as a passenger. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I know he never does anything half-assed, but still, I'm used to Joe, who always tells me dirty jokes the entire time. There's no chance Christian will provide any in-flight entertainment.

The flight to Portland is uneventful. I will say that Christian looks truly happy as we take off. Between Anastasia and flying he's got to be rocking a major _Sawyer_. _Sawyer_ is my new word for boner. Well, it will be my word until Luke finds out and pulls his own _Sawyer_ out of his ass and makes me stop. The entire way to Portland, Christian is pointing out different landmarks.

_**Note to fucked up self**__**:**__ NEVER EVER AGAIN WONDER ALOUD IN FRONT OF CHRISTIAN WHAT SOME LANDSCAPE LOOKS LIKE! NEVER EVER!_ _ I can't stress that enough – NEVER! My fucking Grey boy will be the death of me one day._

My mistake on this trip you ask? Wondering what Mount Saint Helen's looks like close up. Yeah. I'm an idiot. I should have known Christian is a _'make it happen type of guy'_, so my verbal musings fucked us both over.

The WSU meeting took all of fifteen minutes. Hell, we could have done it over the phone and called it a week, but no. Christian wants my sorry ass more involved with WSU, so he has them give me a tour of the facilities and their research. I should have taped it for when I can't sleep at night. That shit was just plain boring. By the time it was over, it was pushing eleven a.m. More than anything I wanted to head back to Seattle because I knew if the clock struck eleven-thirty and we were still in Portland, Christian would insist on feeding his inner child lunch because that man doesn't miss a meal, which meant we wouldn't be back in Seattle until late afternoon. Screw lunch. I'm going to bitch and whine like a petulant child if he suggests we eat out. There's only one thing I want to eat out and it's not lunch.

Luckily I didn't have to argue with him. He was just as hungry for Anastasia's botanic garden as I was for Gwen's. It works for me. See, I have class. I could have said taco, but botanic garden felt more upscale. Hey, at least I didn't say snatch, right?

I can't help but wave good-bye to Portland with my middle finger as Charlie Tango takes flight. When Christian yells at me to put my cans on so I can hear him, I grab my breasts. To me, they are cans; not fucking headphones. The douche bag rolls his eyes at me when I finally take my hands off my tits and put the headphones on.

"Let's do that flyover Mount Saint Helen's you mentioned earlier," he informs me. All I want to do is go home and get kinky, but I'm sure he doesn't want to hear that. Plus he looks so happy. I'd hate to turn that smile upside-down or sideways so he has to parallel ass cracks. Parenthood is turning me from a badass bitch into a squishy pile of pathetic estrogen. Either that or I'm just getting old. Fuck knows.

Christian rambles on and on as he points out the volcano. No shit Christian. You can't miss a big fucking volcano. Can I slap him now? We fly low to survey the area, which is recovering nicely from the 1980 eruption before heading back toward I-5, which we will follow back toward Seattle and home.

The first indication we have that anything is wrong comes when emergency temperature gauge lights begin flashing in the cockpit like a small red disco ball on speed. I glance over at Christian, who looks a bit concerned but not panicked. He informs me there is a small private airport near Silver Lake called _The Flying K Ranch Airport_. He's hoping to set us down there to check the helicopter. Before he can even radio, we hear a loud pop from the rear of the helicopter right before all the alarms sound around us. All I can do is grasp the armrests of my seat, bow my head, and do something I hadn't done since I was a kid – pray to anyone that might be listening. A lot of good that did as a second loud pop followed with more alarms and smoke began filling the cockpit. We're both starting to cough from the acrid smoke.

"Both engines are on fire Ros. Hold tight, I'm going to get as low as we can, cut power and try to set us down," Christian muttered trying to sound calm, but I could hear the apprehension in his voice.

I ventured a quick glance out the window and figured we were maybe two hundred feet in the air when Christian informed me he had no choice but to cut the power this high up before the fire reached the fuel tanks. Feeling the power shut down right before we dropped through a canopy of trees like a rock. My last thoughts before something hitting my head and the sound of metal bending were of my family and hoping if I survived this, that I didn't shit my pants out of fear. There's no hiding that stain when you are wearing a cream-colored Armani suit.

* * *

When I regained consciousness, I was lying on Christian's jacket about twenty feet from Charlie Tango. Christian was treating the bloody cut just beneath my hairline with a bottle of water and a handkerchief. The look of utter relief in his eyes when I gazed up at him and gave him a half-hearted dazed smile made me feel good. I knew the asshole cared about me. When I tried to sit up, he pushed me back down.

"Rest for a few minutes Ros. The fire is out and you took a nasty hit to the head," he explained. I looked over at the damaged copter and I understood why Christian didn't have a scratch on him, while I felt battered. We struck a ridge, knocking over some larger rocks that came through the window on my side of the helicopter. I was extremely lucky not to have been crushed by them. I understood his relief.

Scouts code indicated you remained with the damaged vehicle and await rescue or so Christian explained, before adding that assumed you were on a mapped out planned course with no detours and your vehicle wasn't concealed by trees. Both situations applied to us. I'd try to imagine Christian as a Scout later. All I can picture is a six year old telling his scoutmaster to fuck himself. When we couldn't power up the helicopter radio for fear of the fire restarting, we pulled out our cell phones to the greeting of zero bars. We were fucked and stranded somewhere between Mount Saint Helen's and Silver Lake.

Once he finished treating my head and the scrapes on my arm and leg, he helped me to my unsteady feet so we could use our cellphone GPS and begin walking north. We weren't certain how long it would take us to reach the road that leads to Mount Saint Helen's, but we did know it was due north. On a good day, I'm not a fan of hiking. On a day like this where I survived a fucking helicopter crash, my head along with most of my body ached, and I was dizzy, I would have said no fucking way. Unfortunately, in a potential life-or-death situation, I have no fucking choice but to hike with _Mr. Fitness_ through the woods. God forbid we were near an actual trail, but no. "Maybe my parents were right Christian – God fucking hates me," I inform him as we begin our trek.

"If he hated you, you would have gotten your period on impact since you are wearing a light color and based on my search of your purse for potential medical supplies, you have no feminine hygiene products. So based on that assessment, if there is a God, he or she doesn't hate you."

"Is it wrong that I don't want Christian to know I feel like a dizzy piece of shit? Is it possible for shit to feel dizzy? Maybe when it's going down the crapper when you flush. Did I just say this all out loud?"

I glance over to Christian, who is once again looking at me oddly. "You did say it aloud Ros. Are you up to this hike?"

"I don't see a real choice because remaining with the helicopter really isn't an option since we have no supplies and it won't be visible from the point of view of an aerial search. Not that they know where to search anyway," I reply rubbing my head. "I'm warning you now Grey, when I am overwhelmed or nervous I tend to ramble, so I apologize in advance."

Again he gives me a concerned glance. "So after an hour I'll want to kill you. You get a pass on the first hour because after that hit on the head, I'm concerned about a concussion, so as long as your mouth is moving, I will know you aren't going to die on me."

"It's a good thing it's not the end of the world because we would never repopulate the species. I find you and your penis repulsive," I laugh before falling pretty much flat on my face when my heel catches on a protruding tree root. "Fuck!"

Christian sits near me and pulls me into a sitting position against him. "You're not up for this Ros, especially trying to hike in those fucking heels."

"No shit." He pulls my shoes off and I watch helplessly as he snaps the heels off. All I can do is whimper at my three thousand dollar shoes are ruined forever. "Did you enjoy going all _Romancing the Stone_ on my fucking shoes?"

"I didn't use a machete Ros and we can't stop to keep picking you up off the floor every time your heel gets stuck in something, which based on the terrain would be frequently," he counters. I know he's right, but fuck, they were my lucky shoes and I tell him that. The bastard laughs. "I guess they are lucky because we survived impact and it's not shark week."

As we continue the hike, all I want is a cigarette. It's been way too long and I know there aren't any in my purse. "You don't have any smokes, do you Christian?"

He glowers at me. "I'll give you a million dollars to stop smoking Ros. It's unhealthy and not an example or item you want around your kids. Lord knows there are enough Tic-Tacs in your purse. Suck on those."

"For your information, I stopped smoking pretty much altogether other than post-coitally the day the twins came home from the hospital," I countered. "Hence my daily consumption of my weight in Tic-Tacs. Hell, Gwen even ordered me candy cigarettes from online for post-coital cuddling but it doesn't really do it for me. Neither do carrot sticks. Trust me, I've tried it all."

"Deal with it Ros," he states flatly.

"You're like Mike Tyson," I mutter as we hike side-by-side. "You're a bad ass when you are hitting but vulnerable as all fuck when you feel off-balance. Tyson in his day threw one hell of a punch, probably the best ever, but he had a glass jaw and couldn't take a hit. Ironic, I know."

"And your point?" he snaps at me.

"No fucking clue, but when you get that lost little boy look in your eyes and you tilt your head just so," I mimic him, "you're fucking adorable. All I want to do is hug you." He doesn't even realize he's giving me that look right now. Fuck it, I know he has issues with invading his personal space, but I hug him. He stiffens, so I release him and smack him in the ass. "I've had that look once or twice in my life," I explain. "When my parents evicted me at sixteen, I was completely lost. Granted it only lasted about five seconds, and then I felt relieved. So I picked myself up with help from a teacher and never looked back. Okay, that's not true, I looked back once. I couldn't help but send their homophobe pastor gay porn pictures. Hell, I even taped a filthy picture of a bunch of hot guys daisy chaining it to the rear bumper of his car."

He laughed, so I continued. "If you put Sophia Vergara and Brad Pitt side by side, I'd go _Vaginagara_ all the way. I've always felt that way. I never felt attracted to men or wanted to become a sperm depository. Thankfully Gwen wanted to experience pregnancy because it's a foreign concept to me – like eating bugs in foreign lands. Did you know every time you send my sorry ass to Singapore and Indonesia I lose a pound a day? Fuck I hate going to those shit holes. Thailand too. Hell, I'd rather sleep with you than go there, and that's saying something. I think I just vomited in my mouth a bit at the thought of you pounding into me. I'm nauseated." I finally shut up, find a large rock, and sit down leaning against it. I can't help but close my eyes for a minute.

"Ros? Ros?" I hear Christian's concerned voice as he gently shakes me.

"Hey, got any Chewlies gum or are you a cancer merchant?" I sigh. "I desperately need a smoke."

"No but if you are a good girl, when we get home, I'll allow you to force me to watch the movie _Clerks_ again and if you are really good, we'll watch the entire Kevin Smith collection of movies with Anastasia and Gwen. For that to happen though, we need to keep walking," he counters. "Are you okay to keep going?"

"My parents thought I would burn in hell, but you know me, I'm a fucking salamander dancing on the flames," I mutter as he helps me get up. "Kevin Smith will join me in hell. He's fucking brilliant. Sing _Berserker_ with me Christian – please." I can't help but beg and start to sing the lyrics. Surprisingly he joins me.

_My love for you is like a truck, Berserker_

_Would you like some making fuck, Berserker_

_My love for you is like a rock, Berserker, Berserker_

_The Berserker is just so obscene_

_Likes evil people, you know what I mean_

_He takes your soul and then just rips you apart_

_He'll steal your heart_

_Would you like to smoke some pot, Berserker_

_My love for you is ticking clock, Berserker_

_Would you like to suck my cock, Berserker_

_Would you like some making fuck, Berserker, Berserker_

"If Kevin Smith were here right now, I'd get on my knees and bow before him," I laugh. "Which movie was your favorite?"

"_Dogma_. What can I say, I found it oddly amusing," he replied with a smirk. "I actually bought all of his movies on DVD after we watched them years ago."

"So a real person resides underneath the crotchety businessman exterior?" I ask with a knowing smirk.

He smiles and gives me a nod. We continue walking for a good hour and I continue my rambling on about the wild animals we might encounter – black bears, cougars, elk, and grey wolves. "_Grey_ wolves – fucking appropriate Mr. Grey. I'm telling you right now, if I see a bear or a cougar, I'm climbing up the nearest tree and leaving your sorry ass as chum."

He rolled his fucking eyes at me. Fucker. "Bears and cougars can climb trees Ros. All you'd be doing is buying yourself moments of sheer terror."

"Fuck you Grey," I counter as he stares at the cell phone in his hand. I can see concern on his face. "What's wrong?"

"Your cell phone is about to power down as the battery is just about dead. Mine is about half-charged and it will be dark in a few hours."

"So what you're saying is walk fucking faster Ros?" He nods. Fifteen minutes later we literally stumble upon a stream. Now, not only are my lucky shoes heel-less, but soaking wet. Hell, I'm wet up to my knees and so is Christian. Is it wrong that I'm glad I'm not the only one who ruined an expensive pair of shoes? I know it's childish, but fuck, he broke the heels off my _precious_.

For the first time since we started our hike, we hear the sounds of helicopters in the distance. It's a safe bet they know we are missing at this point. We finally hit a small clearing of no more than twenty by thirty feet. I'm thrilled that the sun is hitting my face full-on for the first time since the crash.

"Have you ever been so happy that you've done the Snoopy dance Christian?"

He glares at me. Clearly the answer is no. "Sit. We're taking a break I the clearing in case they fly over."

"So no to the Snoopy dance?" Again, he glares at me. "So you're fucking Schroeder?" I ask with a laugh and being my version of the Snoopy dance and yes, he's glaring at me like Schroeder on Charlie Brown. Fucker! "Come on Grey. Humor me with a Snoopy dance."

"No," he replies flatly as he sits in the center of the clearing. I can't help but do the Snoopy dance around him even though I'm bone-tired. "I swear Ros, if you make it rain on us with your fucking hopping around like a dying chicken I'll kick your ass."

"Dance with me and I'll stop," I counter continuing my happy dance. God I'm fucking insane. It takes me going round him three times before he finally gives in and for a lump total of five seconds Snoopy dances with me. "YES!" I yell as I fist pump in the air like a victorious _Sonic_. "Electric Slide next Grey?"

"Fuck no"

"Elliot would do it with me under the circumstances."

"So what you are saying," he grins, "is that you want me to give up even more self-respect and dignity than I already have in the past few minutes. I mean, the fucking Snoopy dance Ros? Really?"

"I lock myself in my office after every closed deal and do the Snoopy dance Christian. You need to embrace your inner child. Besides, we lesbians like to dance and get funky."

"Sit your fucking ass down Ros and let me check your head again," he practically yells at me. I can tell he doesn't mean it because I can almost see mischief in his eyes.

While he checks out the side of my head, I can't help but continue rambling. "If you want to offer me money to quit smoking, I'll gladly start again just to quit. It will be like taking money from a baby… a baby… I want my baby back, baby back, baby back ribs. I want my baby back, baby back, baby back ribs. Get in my belly!" I start singing in my best _Fat Bastard_ voice. "I'm fucking hungry."

What's with Christian's eye rolling bullshit? I know he hates it when people do it, but he's fucking doing it all the time. "Is it really that bad spending time with me that you keep rolling your fucking eyes?"

"You're rambling like a fucking lunatic after hitting your head. If I wasn't fucking worried about your well-being, I'd put you over my lap and spank the shit out of you. It's fucking annoying," he snaps at me.

All I can do is laugh. "I feel a hate crime coming on if you do."

"Yes _Banky_," he replies. "Run with your feet, not your mouth Ros. For fucks sake please shut up, as I don't have any fucking Advil to end the headache you're causing me or scotch to make me not give a shit that you're fucking rambling like a mental patient. Hell, I'm tempted to drag your sorry ass back to Charlie Tango, murder you and say you died on impact. God, you're so fucking infuriating sometimes."

Yup, my rambling is getting to him. I can't help it though. I don't feel in control and there isn't a female ready and willing to allow me to dominate her to get some sense of control, so rambling it is. When we get up, I sway, close my eyes and fall to the ground. I can hear the panic in Christian's voice and he checks me over before gently shaking me once again.

"Come on Ros. You have to be okay. I was just fucking kidding about the rambling. You can't go out on my now dammit. Ros? Ros?"

I open my eyes and smile up at him. "See, you do love me you fucking asshole. I just had to prove a point."

"You're a dick, you know that?"

"The irony in the truth of that statement is quite amusing. Wouldn't you say so?" I ask getting to my feet again. He grins at me. We've waited a total of thirty minutes in the clearing and the helicopters sound like they are growing more distant, rather than closer. I will say though, Christian's a smart guy. He grabs a bunch of mid-size rocks and makes a makeshift arrow in the clearing pointing in the direction we are heading. While he's doing that, I'm using the nail polish and lipstick from my purse in an attempt to add color to the arrow to make it more visible. It probably won't help, but at least I feel useful.

I feel like I'm in the last _Harry Potter_ book. You know, the one where all they seem to do is walk forever. I wish I had magic. I'd apparate right in between Gwen's legs, well after I got my baby back ribs and a beer. I'm hungry. Skipping breakfast was a big fucking mistake.

After another two hours of us walking and me rambling, I'm surprised Christian hasn't murdered me. It's getting dark and there's no sign of a road nearby. I'd kill to hear a car at this point. I know I'm annoying the fuck out of him, but I just can't stop. It's pathological. I've ranted about our prison system and having the inmates fight each other for conjugal visits, the media and all the gay, closeted reporters out there, and how I think _KittyKat_ Kavanagh is perfect for Elliot. Christian wasn't too receptive to that last concept.

"You don't like _KittyKat_ because she's a strong, heterosexual female," I laugh at him. "She's you with big, natural tits and blonde hair." There's that glare again. "She's good for him you know."

"I know. Don't remind me," he reluctantly pulling the little giftwrapped box from his breast pocket and shaking it. He's done this a dozen times since we've been out here. It's getting annoying. Personally, I hope its candy.

"What's that?"

"My birthday present from Anastasia," he explains. "I can't open it until tomorrow."

"Fuck that. I'll open it for you," I laugh as I pull it from his grasp.

"No," he counters quickly grabbing it from me and returns it to his pocket.

"It's probably a life-sized model of your _Sawyer_."

He chuckles. "You have a great deal to learn about dick size Ros."

"So any chance you are going to put a ring on her finger anytime soon?" I have to ask. If we don't find civilization soon I'm going to wet my lace panties. Ros Bailey doesn't pee or shit in the woods. "Or will she put a cock-ring on you for privacy purposes?" I'm not sure if it was my imagination but did Christian actually blush? "You've asked her already, didn't you?"

He nods. "I'm just waiting for her answer."

"She'll say yes or I'll sleep with Elliot," I counter happily.

He looks uncomfortable as we continue walking. Finally the awkward silence is broken when he asks, "Did you manage to fit any of your prior lifestyle into your relationship with Gwen?"

There's no missing he's concerned about this specific topic. I laugh. "I could tell you stories that would make your head spin about my marriage. It's amazing how with true trust comes the greatest bedroom adventures."

"Really?"

Yeah, like he's like a hopeful, horny little kid. "Fuck yes." I'm grinning ear-to-ear now. "Put your past where it belongs, in the past. That includes certain people that feed your darkness, and make the future what you and Ana want it to be."

"Who feeds my darkness in your opinion?" he asks uncertainly.

"Do you really want to go there?" I ask staring into his tired grey eyes. He nods. "Elena Lincoln. That cunt got her claws into you when you were a kid and has never looked back." The sudden tension in his body is frightening. He almost looks terrified. Is it of her or the fact that I know? "Before we hired Barney, I spent some time looking into you. Sorry boss, but I wanted to understand you. I'd been exposed enough to your family and her to put the pieces together. Frankly, I'm surprised your family hasn't. I've never told anyone and never will. That woman is Satan incarnate. In the words of Banky Edwards: _I'm telling you, that chick is probably a bigger germ farm than the monkey in Outbreak._ She's been feeding you unstable submissives for years. It's her fault you had that issue with the crazy one who went after Anastasia. I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together."

I left that sink in a minute before I continue. "You also have turned a blind eye to the Esclava books, which don't quite add up in my professional opinion. I would love to do a detailed forensic audit on Mrs. Lincoln's business. Personally, I think ditching it from the GEH portfolio of companies wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Why do you say that? It's profitable," he replies defensively.

"Money won't save your reputation if she's into any unsavory shit Christian," I counter pleadingly. I don't want to tell him what I suspect and what my private detective has spent the past few months digging up on her. Between the rumors of more submissives under the age of consent, to skimming from her own salons, to being a silent partner in one of the worst underground BDSM clubs on the west coast where depending on the Dom's mood, safe words may or may not mean anything. I've had contacts in the BDSM community for almost a decade up and down the west coast, so I reached out and the bitch's reputation is less than stellar. "Ditch the bitch or risk losing your girl. Trust me when I say, I love seeing my little quasi-bro happy, grinning like an idiot, and carefree. Don't let the _platinum piranha_ chase your girl away or I'll have to destroy the bitch."

Again he gives me that shy, innocent, lost look from him. Yeah, I'd kill the bitch for you little bro. I protect my family. "You of all people know family isn't made by blood. You are my family and this Bailey protects her younger siblings. When it comes to Elena Lincoln, _Hooper X _said it best but he got the gender wrong when he said, "_See that man over there? He the Devil! Never take your eye off the man._ Watch out for that fucking bitch."

And there's that shy smile. No wonder Miss Steele loves the man. You can't help but loved the screwed up child beneath the hard candy coating. Time to get off the serious topic. "So you love and adore me because I know you adore your brother plus he adores and considers me family. Do you know how many gay men would pay to see you and Elliot get it on – it's the top fantasy in the male homosexual community in Seattle. Since you guy aren't genetically linked and according to the average gay man _'both hot as all fuck'_ it's almost considered socially acceptable. Would you consider doing it for a fund-raiser?"

"Only if you allow my security team to gang-bang you for posterity," he laughs.

"So that's a no then. Pity. Elliot wasn't game either. Apparently _KittyKat_ Kavanagh wouldn't approve." I pause for a moment listening carefully. "Did you hear that? It sounded like a car in the distance."

He listens but hears nothing. My guess is he figures the hit in the head I took was harder than we both thought. I hate to tell him, my head is fine other than throbbing. I tend to ramble when nervous and fuck me if the thought of possibly not seeing my family again makes me ridiculously nervous.

Fuck me, I've got to pee. This sucks. I'm approaching the point where I can't hold it anymore. Christian has no problems just heading behind a tree and taking a piss. He doesn't have to drop his drawers to do it. Lucky bastard.

Finally he grabs my purse and rifles through it, eventually handing me some tissues. "Go ten feet into the woods and just pee because I prefer the Snoopy dance to your _I_ _really need to pee dance_," he commands.

I give in, grab the tissues, and wander into the woods muttered about how mortifying this is. After dropping the lacey thong and popping a squat, I still can't pee. "Cover your ears so I can pee in private," I yell at him.

"You're a pain in the ass Ros. Pee or I'm going to dock your salary for annoying the fuck out of me repeatedly."

It felt good to finally pee. The best part was I managed not to further desecrate what's left of my precious shoes. Maybe the situation is finally looking up. I'm fairly certain I heard a car in the distance before, so I'm motivated to keep hiking.

As darkness sets in so does our sense of doom. For once I'm dead quiet, a state I'm sure Christian appreciates. Ten more minutes and we come upon a small ridge about eight feet high that feels like it goes on for miles, so he gives me a boost up. If you'd told me I'd have a man's hand slipping into my backside crack, I would have asked you for a sample of what you were smoking. What I see stops me in my tracks – it's a road. As Christian climbs up, I grab his hand and pull with all my strength and he lands on top of me as our momentum causes us to tumble. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see asphalt in my fucking life. All we can do is lay there side-by-side on the ground and laugh. It's short-lived as he checks his dying cell phone and we still no signal.

We start walking yet again, but at least this time it's down the darkened road. I can't help it, I have to talk or go insane. "So tell me about Ana_fucking_stasia."

He smiles but says nothing.

"Come on Christian. You know I'm going to officially meet her soon enough; well, other than when I saw her at SIP. Dish," I demand. When he doesn't answer, even though I'm exhausted, I begin my Snoopy dance around him with renewed vigor yet again, but this time chanting Ana_fucking_stasia repeatedly and don't stop until he yells at me.

"I wish I had fucking duct tape to cover your mouth, but right now it's a good thing I don't have it or I'd cover your nose as well. Fuck, you're as annoying as Elliot, maybe even more so."

I can't help it. I laugh at him. He's too easy to fucking annoy. "Okay, if I promise to act like a mature adult during the remainder of our excellent adventure, will you tell me about Anastasia? Frankly, I don't have the energy left to do the Snoopy dance again."

"Thank fucking god," he mutters as he puts his arm over my shoulder and we keep walking, leaning against each other. I wrap my arm around his waist and grin up at him. He gives me his best shy grin before he starts talking. The next hour of walking passes Anastasia – her beauty, brains, kindness, and how special she is. He goes on and on. It's wonderful seeing him like this.

You wouldn't know the man has recently survived a helicopter crash and spent hours trudging through the woods but he's grinning from ear-to-ear as he talks about her. He even confirms some of my suspicions when it comes to Elena Lincoln and how young he was when she got her hooks into him. Note to self – destroy the fucking bitch.

We're so into our conversation that we almost don't notice the tractor-trailer approaching us from behind. It's the first vehicle we've seen on this dark, lonely stretch of road. When the driver stops and picks us up, we're beyond grateful to be finally heading home. The most shocking part is in this day and age the old dude didn't have a cell phone. Well, if he's regularly driving these types of roads, we probably wouldn't have reception anyway. He even shared his lunch with us. At this time of night it was probably his dinner. Either way, after we told him what happened, he agreed to drive us all the way to Seattle. Personally, I wanted to stop and find a fucking phone to call Gwen. I know Sawyer is probably with her because that's part of security protocol in case something ever happened, but I just want to hear her voice at this point. Christian however, just wants to get home. Apparently Anastasia has an old college friend at Escala who Christian doesn't trust.

Almost two hours later, the semi pulls in front of my building and we get out, thanking the driver profusely and giving him our business cards. We saw the media camped out across the street at Escala, so our disappearance must have been a story most of the fucking day. Before the semi pulls away and reveals we are back, I look at Christian and smile. He returns the exhausted grin, counts to three, and we break into an impromptu Snoopy dance for a few seconds before hugging each other tightly.

"It's been an adventure Ros," he mumbles. "When you get upstairs, call Andrea and let her know we are okay. I'll deal with the asshole media outside. And get that head checked tomorrow. It's an order, not a request."

"Will do boss," I laugh and head into my building. All I want right now is to see my Gwen and my rugrats. Life is good. I'm home safe. The elevator was waiting for me and made no stops to the penthouse once I used my key. When the elevator doors opened and I stepped inside, I found a teary-eyed Gwen curled up on the couch and Luke Sawyer playing with all three kids on the floor. Luke as a sperm donor was the best decision we ever made as a family. The kids love him and so do we. If the image playing out in my living room is any indication, he loves us too.

"Hello Family!" I announce my appearance. Gwen runs to me, and jumps into my arms. Yup, this is my fucking home. Yes, I'm a sap, but more than anything, I fucking love my wife and kids.

* * *

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**I set up a preliminary pinterest page for this story. Pinterest / xwingana / mr-greys-wild-ride**_

_**I'm a hard core Kevin Smith fan, so please have patience with my lost, yet hopefully immortal, soul. **_


	12. Chptr12: Mistress Vermillion to Bellevue

**Chapter 12 – Mistress Vermillion to Bellevue**

Do you know what's worse than being in a helicopter crash? Getting home after eleven at night and all you want to do is shower, climb into your king-sized bed with your wife and kids, and just bask in the glory and serenity that my family provides. What did I get? A hysterical yet relieved wife, a cold piece of chicken, and a shower before Christian sent a text to Sawyer with instructions to make sure I get the cut on my head checked along with a full skull series.

What did Christian send me? An email with a link to a gif of the snoopy dance and I'll be damned if he really does look like a ginger version of Schroeder with that glare. Shouldn't he be getting laid rather than surfing the web for gifs? What a fucking moron! God, I love that man.

One thing I did learn that made me happy was during the time we were missing, Elliot kept going between Escala with his family to checking on Gwen and the kids at our place. Heck, Elliot and Kate even came to visit immediately after leaving Christian's and we shared a bottle of wine and a few laughs before Sawyer insisted he take my sorry ass to the emergency room to get checked so Gwen and Christian could have piece of mind.

What did I get you ask yet again? Two less hours of sleep, no stitches or staples as doctor Christian did an okay job taking care of my wound, a full blown skull series, and probably an exorbitant bill that would come later – so yeah, _the proverbial shaft_. By the time I got home, all four of my girls were asleep in our king-sized bed and Sawyer went to pass out in the guest bedroom. Apparently he's my bitch now until the press about the crash dies down, so suck it Anastasia Steele, he's mine. It's almost four a.m., I'm exhausted so I scoot Emma over in the bed, take my spot and am asleep before my head hits the pillow. The Tylenol number three the hospital provided for my headache coupled with the wine earlier and a slight concussion helped that process along quite nicely, thank you very much.

* * *

Much to my surprise I wake up alone in bed and it's sunny as hell outside. This is Seattle. Where are my damned clouds? I groan in pain when I try to get out of bed. I knew after the crash and long hike yesterday that I'd be sore but this is ridiculous. I feel like I'm ninety and need every joint in my body replaced. This fucking sucks. I venture a glance at my bedside table and find two of my prescription pain meds, three Advil, and a glass of water. I love Gwen. She thinks of everything. I take them and almost choke when I look at the alarm clock. It's two p.m. No wonder riga set in. This is the longest I've slept in a stretch since the two-week period immediately after I met Christian where all I did was sleep and get laid. They were almost the best two weeks ever, unless I categorize them as pre-Gwen, then definitely the best two weeks ever pre-Gwen. Post-Gwen, pretty much every week's been awesome. Oh God, I'm still rambling.

After waiting a few minutes to start feeling the medication buzz, I manage to get out of bed and take a long, hot shower. By the time I throw on jeans and a t-shirt and head to the kitchen, I'm lucky I'm not drooling from taking the pills on an empty stomach. Even Sawyer is looking at me oddly, which makes me cackle. Not my finest moment, I'll admit it. Even to myself, I sound like a demented lunatic.

No sooner than I plant myself on a stool at the breakfast bar, Emma toddles over to join me. I sit her on my lap as Gwen hands me a cup of coffee, a fresh, homemade Colombian arepa, scrambled eggs with ham and green onions, and small bowl of diced mangos. I'm in heaven, until Emma begins eating my precious arepa. Thankfully Gwen scoops another onto my plate with a smile because she knows Ros and her arepa should never be parted. Clearly Emma feels the same way, though she shared hers with Sawyer but not with me. Fucking Sawyer or as Emma calls him, Daddy Luke. This open sperm donor arrangement was the best thing we ever did. It's a win-win for the kids – two moms, one dad, and we all love them. Hell, even Sawyer's current girlfriend thinks the agreement is progressive and smart, so hopefully he'll keep this one as she's normal, well educated, and the Chief Resident for Psychiatry at a local hospital.

Right before Gwen started the in-vitro process with Emma, we spent the week between Christmas and New Years in Cali Colombia for the annual Cali Fair. My wife loves Salsa dancing and it's the perfect location for music, dancing, food, and just all around fun. Colombian's are the most awesome people on the planet. It took a few shots of _Aguardiente_, which is similar to Sambuca, before I got my groove on, but after that I didn't give a fuck what people thought about how I danced. I know, I have no fucking shame.

I quickly learned that in Colombia, all meals come with an arepa, which is basically a savory pancake made with finely grated white corn flour, butter, salt, hot water, and plenty of cheese mixed together to form a smooth, decadent, cheesy dough. It's then shaped into pancakes and grilled. The entire country is arepa crazy and it's fucking awesome. I must have eaten my weight in arepas when I was down there and Gwen learned how to make them. So now, every so often as a special treat, she'll head to the local Hispanic market, buys the ingredients, and we go to town feasting on them until we're ready to puke. After yesterday, this is the perfect comforting breakfast. I make a mental note to plan another trip to Cali soon. I love that place and after yesterday, we need to cut loose.

When Gwen informs me that Mia Grey called and invited us over for dinner tonight to celebrate Christian's birthday, I cringe. I love the Grey's but right now, all I want to do is sit my not so fat ass on the couch with my family and be a zucchini. Oddly the best negotiator in the Grey family is Mia. Even Christian can't win with her. It's hilarious watching him try though, so I'm not surprised Gwen accepted the invitation just to shut her the fuck up. Thankfully the dress code is casual, which in Grey-land means little black dress, killer heels, and going all out. I also need to go out and buy Christian a more appropriate gift than my traditional tacky birthday extravaganza that I give him at work. Though this year, given he now has Anastasia in his life, I can't go along the traditional theme of _'how badly Christian needs to get laid and how I'm helping that happen'_.

So with the party at his parent's house in mind, what do you get the man who has everything? We decide to take the easy way out – _a helicopter crash survival kit_. I know it might be too soon as Gwen pointed out, but fuck it's appropriate. After a quick search on the web, I manage to find a Snoopy backpack. I know people will think it's ridiculous, but Christian will get it. Besides, if you survive a helicopter crash, how can you not Snoopy Dance? I mean really?

I convince Sawyer to come shopping with me as I buy things to fill it - adult butt wipes, a first aid kit, Advil, duct tape, two bottles of water, an assortment of miniature bottles of hard liquor, his real gift a six thousand dollar bottle of_1982 Chateau Lafleur Pomerol_, candy, beef jerky, glow in the dark condoms, lube, bug repellant, a taser, solar powered cell phone charger, a solar-powered flash light, a survival GPS tracker, clean socks, a book of dirty jokes, sneakers in my size, and finally, a massive glow in the dark, ejaculating dildo with a can of spray cheese. What can I say? I couldn't resist.

I also picked Christian and Ana_fucking_stasia a bit of a joke gift, because I had little doubt after yesterdays adventure that Miss Steele would say anything other than yes to Christian's proposal. So I found a coffee mug that was appropriate for each of them – hers is the proper use of certain commonly incorrectly used words, I mean she was a literature major after all and works in publishing, while his is just a place for him to track who is on his shit list. Naturally I had to open it and put my name at the very top of the list because I'm special. See I can keep it light and clean, but only until I know how depraved Ana_fucking_stasia's sense of humor goes. I mean _KittyKat _Kavanagh is just over the fucking top when it comes to humor. I'm hoping her roommate, or soon to be former roommate shares her sense of debauchery and perversion when it comes to humor.

At four p.m., Christian swaps out Sawyer for Ryan at my place for our CPO detail. I'm disappointed. It's nothing against Ryan, but he can come off pompous and sucks with children. Now Reynolds is just fucking boring, Emma loves him because he'll let her sit on his shoulders at the park, but he's staying at Escala which now always has at least one CPO on duty around the clock. I can't say I blame Christian for that move.

Ryan drives Gwen and I to the elder Grey's compound in Bellevue by six. If you'd told me that Carrick would hug me so tight I almost puked without him having the benefit of alcohol freely floating through his system, I would have told you that you're delusional, but he did. He fucking did. Grace and Mia followed in kind. Welcome to an alternate dimension, a place called, _Post-Charlie Tango Down_. A dimension where I taught Carrick to make my special Long Island Iced Tea, and between him, me, Mia, and Gwen we polished off the pitcher while talking about the crash, the hike, and finally, the fact that Christian and I probably shouldn't ever travel on the same flight again otherwise GEH would fall apart. He's probably right on that last request but frankly, I'm shocked he feels that way about me. I always thought he put up with me because of Christian, though he's grown less frosty over the years, this is the first time I honestly feel he respects me as a businesswoman. It feels almost as good as a multiple orgasm – almost. Okay, not even close but still, it feels good.

The house slowly fills up with family; some of Grace and Carrick's neighbors; John Flynn and his hot wife, no wonder he moved from England for her, I get it now; Elena _bitch-face_ Lincoln; and finally Elliot arrives with _KittyKat_, who looks none too happy. She keeps fiddling with a piece of paper in her purse until Christian and Anastasia arrive and she quickly drags them into one of the front rooms and closes the door behind them. Unfortunately I've had too much alcohol already to be concerned, though clearly the rest of the Grey's are concerned by her actions. Fuck that, I just don't give a shit as Gwen and I head back toward the bar. It's not that often we get a night out without the kids.

Thankfully, whatever drama is playing out behind closed doors is over in minutes, as Christian grabs Ana's hand, Grace hands them each a glass of champagne, and finally Christian announces their engagement. Most everyone is thrilled for them, well everyone except some of the servants, all of Mia's bitchy yet delusional friends, and the _platinum plastic-filled piranha_, who looks like she's about to either shit a massive brick or choke Anastasia to death. God I hate that fucking cunt. I glance over at Taylor, who is discretely positioned off to one side of the room. I can't resist heading over there to chat with him.

"Taylor, nice to see you are still the life of the party. I love consistency in people."

"Ros," he nods but I can see the relief in his eyes before he hugs me unexpectedly. "Good to see you in one piece. How's your head? Still empty?"

"Always and I'm telling Gail you goosed me." I tease before growing serious. "So the platinum piranha looks rabid tonight. I dread to think out of which orifice she's foaming. I think we need to keep an eye on her and maybe put down some house breaking wee-wee pads. Wouldn't you agree?"

"We always keep an eye on her, but more so now that Miss Steele came into the picture," he counters.

"Good because I need a favor." All he can do is stare at me with an odd, unreadable expression on his face before I continue. "Rather than give Christian a tacky birthday gift at work on Monday, I'd like to get some time alone with Mrs. Lincoln and give him the gift that keeps on giving, which is that cunt out of his life once and for all. Do you think you can buy me some time alone with her tonight? I promise, I won't murder her even though it will be a tough promise to keep."

"What did you have in mind?"

I laugh and begin playing with my phone. It takes me a second, but I forward him the latest case summary from the private detective I hired months ago to dig for information on the cunt. "You've got mail."

The look on his face as he reads the report is priceless – shock, awe, and finally a mischievous grin. "Nice to see you hate her as much as we do. So what are your plans?"

"Let's just say I'm going to release my inner Dom on her."

"Really? I'm not saying you aren't dominant, but she's supposedly one of Seattle's strongest and most fucked up dominants," he counters. "I mean, look at how she fucked up Grey."

Again I laugh. "Just because I favor paddling the pink canoe rather than riding a crotch rocket doesn't make me one of the weaker dominants around town. Trust me on that one Taylor."

I swear he blushed before agreeing to help me find time alone with Elena Lincoln.

* * *

When Gwen and I were finally officially introduced to the one and only Anastasia Steele it was awesome. Christian was grinning proudly from ear-to-ear when he did so. Anastasia's face showed her shock and understanding that Ros Bailey, management consultant was actually the COO of Grey Enterprise Holdings.

"I apologize for my ruse but I had to check you out to make sure you were good enough for my little Grey boy here," I explain before punching Christian in the arm.

"What Ros means," Gwen explains with a mischievous grin after exchanging a knowing smirk with Christian, "is she's the nosiest person on the face of the earth and really who wouldn't want to meet the woman who spun Christian's world on it's axis like a Dreidel in the kids room at Hanukkah."

"Hey, at least I didn't call you Ana_fucking_stasia," I counter blushing as Christian glares at me.

"Ana_fucking_stasia?" Anastasia asks with a grin on her face. "Do I want to know?"

"If you earn any tense of the verb _to fuck_ in your name with Ros," Gwen explains cheerfully, "it either means she's in awe of you or she's planning on taking you down. It's her go to verb and quite possibly the only one she can conjugate while drunk. She's blushing so it's the former, not the latter so no worries."

"That's good," Ana replies with a mischievous grin, "or I'd have to knock her down and do the Snoopy dance on her face. Maybe after a few more drinks, you can teach me how to do it. Christian looked like he was having a seizure when he tried to show me earlier." This makes Christian just about shoot the champagne he was sipping out his nose. I can't help it, but I laugh my ass off in his face. _I love Anafuckingstasia Steele!_

"I can't wait to go flying with Christian again. It was his skill as a pilot that saved our sorry asses," I tell her. "I'm fucking proud of him, though I will admit there was a time during the way down where I thought if we survived this I'd fucking kill him." I laugh.

"You're lucky I didn't kill you motor mouth," Christian chuckles before turning to Gwen and telling her she's a saint for putting up with this one. She naturally replies that Anastasia must be a saint as well then for putting up with _Mr. Mercurial_. Anastasia laughs so hard she lightly snorts.

Gwen and I hand each of them a small package explaining we wanted to be the first to give them something they can use every day now that they are engaged. Ana unwraps her gift and smiles at her mug which explains to people the difference between there, their and they're; when to use effect or affect, etc… It turns out that misusing them is one of her pet peeves. Christian laughs at my name at the top of his shit list mug. I'm glad they appreciate the humor.

"Okay birthday boy," I laugh before Gwen and I hand him the large gift bag that holds the survival pack. "Happy birthday" we exclaim together giving him a quick hug.

When he doesn't open it, Anastasia asked him why he's waiting. He explains my gift giving philosophy when it comes to him and she giggles before encouraging him to pull whatever it is out of the bag. Like a good little boy, he listens and his face lights up with mirth when he sees the Snoopy backpack.

"This is hilarious," he laughs.

"It's a helicopter crash survival kit," Gwen explains. "The fun is inside."

We watch and he cautiously digs through the bag and chuckles at some of the items. Yes, some of them are practical, like the solar charger, flash light, the alcohol, etc… but when he pulls out the glow in the dark condoms, the spray cheese, and the glow in the dark ejaculating dildo he just about dies of embarrassment while Anastasia blushes profusely and giggles. _SCORE! He's got himself a winner._

Anastasia and Gwen hit it off immediately. They discuss publishing, books, and Gwen even shows her pictures of our kids from her cell phone. Ana even realizes that we named our daughters after three of the Spice Girls she inquires how we would remedy the conundrum if we have two more female children as there are two Melanies in the group. So the first girl would be Geri, but the second one what? Melody perhaps so she could be Mel too? We never thought of that, which makes Ana laugh and Christian ask who the fuck the Spice Girls are. That man must have lived in a closet growing up. Who are the fucking Spice Girls? _GAY FUCKING ICONS!_

Ana stares at Emma's most recent picture before glancing at Christian nervously, then looking around the room for Sawyer, who is on the other side of the room pretending to be invisible. Gwen and I laugh at her astute observation. There's no missing that Emma looks like her father. She's got Sawyer's eyes, chin, lips, and bone structure of the face. When she glances back at us, we smile and nod.

"What can I say? We only wanted the best and Elliot would have made it awkward," I counter with a smirk.

"Your family is beautiful and I agree, he's an excellent choice. He's smart, caring, loyal, and has a great sense of humor."

"He's Ros with a penis and blonde hair," Gwen laughs, "so I thought he was the perfect choice."

"You realize that the next time I look Sawyer in the eye I'm going to laugh in his face, right? All I can do now is imagine him in a onesie and a baby bonnet as he sucks a glow in the dark, dildo-shaped pacifier," Ana asks blushing profusely. It's fucking adorable watching them together. It's sweet and I can feel a cavity coming on just being in contact with them. Who'd have thought Christian Grey, badass CEO and dominant, is just a sweet little horny boy? Okay, realistically, I did, but people say I'm a dreamer. Like the late, great, John Lennon, I_ imagine_.

* * *

This is probably the best party I've been to at Bellevue mainly because Christian is relaxed and actually enjoying himself rather than checking his watch, his phone, or for the nearest exit for his escape. It's a nice change. Frankly, I'm surprised that Christian left Ana's side to head out to the boathouse. I know Elliot used to take all his girlfriends out there growing up to do the deed and get kinkified as he called it, so why would Christian go out there alone? Maybe he was going with a black light to see what type of organic Jackson Pollack painting Elliot made in there over the years so he can send Gail Jones to scrub it clean before he takes Ana there for a good fuck. See, I have quite the active yet demented imagination. Maybe Gwen is right I need help. _Calling Dr. Flynn?**_

I feel bad for Ana, as Mia has her prisoner along with one of Carrick's lemon martinis in the formal dining room. Carrick, with a few drinks in him, fancies himself to be Tom Cruise in _Cocktail_. The man gets behind his bar and invents new drinks or tries to improve on existing ones all while tossing bottles around. I'm surprised he hasn't ever knocked himself unconscious, though last year I saw him give himself a black eye and it was fucking hilarious. Thank God he even laughed about it, but Grace wasn't amused. Typical Grey male – _work hard, party hard_. His lemon martini was like drinking battery acid and Mia could drink them like they were water. It goes to show you, over the last year, her father's concoctions killed her taste buds along with a few brain and liver cells.

Gwen and I were busy chatting with John Flynn and his wife Rhian when we saw Mia emerge from the room and Elena Lincoln head into the private, formal dining room. Thankfully there wasn't anyone else around as the buffet was being served family style in the kitchen when we hear Anastasia scream at the bitch, "Don't you dare tell me what I'm getting myself into!" followed by a splash and then, "When will you learn? It's none of your goddamned business!" Yup, Ana_fucking_steele is my new idol.

None of us had noticed Christian had come in through the French doors and heard them. He forced his way through the dinning room door in full dominant mode, and fuck me if it wasn't an impressive site to behold. Gwen and I are gay but we didn't miss dominant Christian is sexy as all fuck. No wonder all his submissives fell in love with him. I get it now.

We could hear muffled words for a minute before Christian roars, "I've told you before – this is none of your fucking business" then the conversation once again turns to muffled, unintelligible, intense chatter, but his roar was enough to garner the attention of Grace, Taylor, and Sawyer. There was no stopping Grace from entering the room and within seconds we heard a slap so hard it was probably heard all through the house if not all of Bellevue.

Taylor and I glance at each other and he gives me a quick tilt of his head indicating for me to wait out front. My moment has come and I'll be damned if I didn't feel like a kid on Christmas morning. He was putting me in the direct path of Elena Lincoln, who was about to be tossed from Grey Manor on her bony, liposuctioned ass. The anticipation is fucking orgasmic.

As I head out the front door, all I can think of is the old saying: _don't kick a man while he's down_, but quickly laugh that off as I embrace my inner demon child who reminds me that:

(a) she is a female not a male – granted she's the lowest form of female, but still she rocks a canoe not a stick shift which invalidates the saying;

(b) she's a vile human being;

(c) if I kick her while she's down, she's that much closer to the bowels of hell where she belongs;

(d) as a demon child it's my responsibility of stick my pitchfork up her in all likelihood, bleached asshole;

(e) and most of all, that I need to protect my family, her other victims, and potential future victims

I stand to the left of the front door underneath the outside sconce waiting for my prey. I know Sawyer and Ryan came out the back and now are strategically positioned somewhere in or around the driveway just in case this heads south quickly. The door opens and Taylor escorts the platinum piranha through it, blocking her from noticing me casually leaning against the house. He informs her that she is no longer welcome at Bellevue, Escala, Grey House, or any other properties or businesses owned by any member of the Grey family.

As I catch my first glimpse of her, it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to laugh my ass off. Her face, hair, and black hooker dress is now adorned in the last sticky drink I saw in Ana_fucking_stasia Steele's hand – _Carrick's lemon battery acid martini._ Its colorful yellow hue makes it look like this bitch was caught in the middle of a ten-man circle jerk where rather than ejaculate, they urinated on her. It was just a fucking amazing site to see. Hopefully Sawyer had his cell phone camera rolling to capture this unprecedented image. I want to turn it into a dartboard for Anastasia's birthday, whenever that is. Have I mentioned that I'm so fucking proud of the petite, former co-ed from Montesano?

I follow the bitch down the front steps to catch up with her as I wrap my arm over her shoulder in a comforting gesture. "How's your night going Elena?" I ask sweetly. Without shoes the bitch is taller than me, but I'm wearing my fuck me pumps, so I've got at least an inch on her.

"What the fuck do you want Ros?" she yells at me, so I tighten my grasp around her shoulder.

"Have I told you what Christian gave me as a gift for surviving the Charlie Tango crash?" She shakes her head negatively before we continue walking down the driveway. "The greatest gift a bitch like me ever could want – I'm now the main point of contact between GEH and Esclava Salons and it is my privilege to inform you that starting Monday morning at seven a.m. a forensic audit dating back four years will begin."

She pales slightly before assuming her dominant stance, pushes my arm off her shoulder, and tries to glare down at me menacingly as she backs me against a nearby SUV. "What gives you that right?"

I laugh at her. I can't help it. She's pathetic. I pull out my phone and show her a few pictures and documents. She pales and her dominant stance diminishes. Showing Satan their wrong doings with minors has been captured on film would deflate her like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon at the end of the parade route. "As I see it, I hold these cards and many more where you are concerned. I've never liked you or the impact you had on Christian. You're tenure as puppet master is over. You're my little bitch now."

She slams me roughly against the SUV but my smile never fades. I know I'm getting to her and it's really getting me fucking aroused.

"So you want to take all of my hard work with him for yourself?" she snaps at me.

"God you're a stupid fucking bitch. All I want is for you to leave him alone and stop fucking with his head. You didn't make him. You spotted his intelligence and then exploited and manipulated him by pretending to be Grace's friend so she'd feed you information. Your days of pulling this shit with anyone are through. If you have any contact with any member of the Grey family, their significant others, their businesses, or any minors I will end you. I can prove you've lured minors into the BDSM lifestyle. The club you own in San Francisco is being shut down as we speak. I sent all the evidence needed to the authorities for you to lose your liquor license and for them to investigate the trash you consider members there. And finally, I can prove to Christian and the authorities that it's you who formed the sub club and encouraged Leila to go after Anastasia. Oh and all that money you stole from Esclava might want to make it's way back into the business accounts as in a few hours your passport will be blocked from international travel."

I can see the rage in her eyes a split second before she grabs the front of my dress and tries to slam me head first into the paved driveway, but with a quick spin and hard shove I send her head first into a nearby stone pillar before she falls to the floor. I know she's dazed as she sits there staring up at me, but fuck I'm irate now. "Let's make sure you understand something – Christian is done with you. I mean, you and that ancient, dried up, puss-infused pussy hold no appeal to men your age, much less young hot ones. You have to wax down there because let's be real, _Brillo_ is hard to tame and fucking unattractive even when expertly styled. And finally, get a new plastic surgeon, because the guy doing your face work is an idiot. Your face is pulled tighter than military bedding, but your neck looks like a pair of worn out slouchy leggings from the 1980's and that's just fucking unattractive and frankly, in the warm summer I don't see how you aren't fermenting cheese within those folds. Just fucking gross, but I guess it matches your personality."

I grab her by the collar, pull her to her feet, and drag her toward her car. Opening the door, I throw her in behind the driver's seat and warn her. "No contact with the Greys, no contact with anyone under eighteen, and keep everything one hundred percent legal and we won't have a problem," I tell her with Taylor, Sawyer, and Ryan slowly coming toward the vehicle. "It's not them you need to be concerned with," I tell her pointing at the three big guys, "it's me because Christian controls them but I'm the master of my own fucking destiny. It's me you need to be afraid of because you get one chance. If you try to contact the Grey's I'll know and you'll regret that decision. Unlike Christian, I don't have a conscience. I live without regrets so don't make me regret giving you this one chance because I have no problem obliterating you professionally, personally, and physically. Do I make myself fucking clear?"

"Yes," she snaps with her slightly head bowed in submission before turning the car. She almost took a few of my fingers off as she slammed the door. I can't help but flip her off as she backs down the driveway. Now Mistress Vermillion needs to get laid to celebrate, but first – _THE SNOOPY DANCE!_

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_**Author's Notes**__**: **_

_**** "Calling Dr. Flynn?" is a tribute to a wonderful, amusing, friendly, email exchange I had with Jeangb in which she ended it with "Calling Dr. Flynn" with regard to my mental health. IT WAS PERFECT! Hours later, I'm still giggling about it like a chucklehead.**_

_**This stories' Pinterest page has been updated with the mugs, the backpack, the wine, etc… for more information go to:**_

_**Pinterest dot com / Xwingana / mr-greys-wild-ride**_


	13. Chapter 13: Memes & Midol

**_Author's Note: If I make reference to a meme, song, or a picture, you'll find it on my pinterest page. There's a ton of them for this chapter. Pinterest dot com /xwingana/mr-greys-wild-ride_**

**_Sorry for the delay in this chapter. The truth is this story really only has a few more chapters because it ends after the third book and I've had too much fun writing it, so I don't want it to end. sad sigh_**

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**Chapter 13 – Memes & Midol**

Only Christian would want to get married in a fucking month. Okay, technically six fucking weeks. On top of that he's planning on taking a three-week European honeymoon. Don't get me wrong, he's more than entitled to the time off, but we have eight major Asian acquisitions in play at this point, so I'm fucked because it means Christian and Anastasia have four weeks or so to plan this wedding. Four weeks where Christian will be even more preoccupied by Anastasia and her orifices of wonder and mystery than he has been for the past six weeks. It's a wonder she can still walk without looking like she's been in the rodeo her whole life. At this rate, I'll be racking up frequent flier miles like Madonna must have racked up STD's and boy toys in the 1980's.

The one good thing since going down in Charlie Tango at the end of last week was that Christian and I have gotten closer. He's less guarded, open to some mischief, and finally beginning to act his fucking age. How you ask? God I'm talking to myself again. Well, I'll tell myself anyway as the sound of my own inner monologue is oddly soothing and if I'm drunk and alone, arousing. Maybe I should make an appointment with the illustrious Dr. Flynn as clearly Christian's mental health issues are migrating my way like lice. This morning I received a meme featuring a plate of sushi with bug toppings in place of my traditional wasabi overload. The title on the picture was: _Guess who's going to Thailand?_ Underneath is simply said: _Clue: It's not Christian Grey. Enjoy lunch Ros_. What a douchebag!

I know he's mad at me because of the meme I sent him after Luke gave me a meme generator. I mean every psychotic bitch needs an outlet. So I sent him a meme of two minions in bondage gear stating _Mr. Grey will see you now_. To my chagrin, fucking Luke not only gave him the same meme generator, but taught the asshole how to use it too. Remember on Saturday Night Live – _Jane you ignorant slut_? Well, he's now: _Sawyer you traitorous dickhead_. Putting a weapon used for taunting assholes into the hands of someone who is feeling less inhibited but utterly devoid of humor really fucked me over. So when Christian sent me the Thailand trip meme, I had to respond in kind, right?

What did I send you ask? A reddish blonde minion called _Minion Ros_ told Christian to _Go to fucking Thailand yourself Grey_. Sue me. I like minions. It comes with having kids, I like marshmallows and twinkies and minions look like all that and more. So what does asshole Grey do? He tries to be funny but fails. No surprise there. He sends me a Xena Warrior Princess PMS meme that tells me I'm going to Thailand and to take my Midol. Then he has a case of that shit delivered to my office – a fucking case and it's marked two-week supply. _Fucker_. He should know, as our periods are in synch.

He knows Xena fantasies are my thing since I hit puberty. Hell, three years ago for Halloween, Gwen and I went to a costume contest at the WildRose as Xena and Gabrielle. Dark brown hair actually suits me. Who'd have thought? After that contest, Gwen and I spent two days just going all out twenty-four-seven power exchange. It was epic and a new low in our level of debauchery. Fuck low – _HIGH!_

I can't help but stare at the picture on my desk of Gwen and I at our wedding. It's my favorite picture of us and frankly, I miss getting home at a reasonable hour and spending time with the kids. The long hours for the past six weeks have sucked Elena Linc – _syphilis-infested pussy_. I haven't had enough time to spend with my family and I sure haven't had the chance to truly unwind at the end of every night. I have to remind myself that it's about eight more weeks until I can bust Christian's chops and get him back onboard full-time and hopefully not having all of his attention span sucked out of his dick all the time. I swear, Ana must be good at that because every day he's grown more detached from the business. She must be a succubus who drains his intelligence, business sense, and free will out of his cock. While it's a great skill that should be taught around the globe to ensure future female world domination, preferably by yours truly, but right now it's a skill that's screwing me over and not in the kinky, naughty, feel good kind of way. Fuck Midol, he should have sent me a Rabbit vibrator and soundproofed my fucking office.

It worries me that he's somewhat detached, but I know Christian isn't the _Fuckwad_, but when you've been burned once, you tend to over-react if something around you reminds you of that wonderful time. Yeah, the rabbit would have been much better. Christian's kept some of his attention on the game as it plays out at Grey House. I know in time things will go back to normal. Until then I'd have to be satisfied with being fucking miserable and trying to work from home more so I can see Gwen and the kids regularly. Yeah, I know, I'm whipped. I miss them. Hell, I miss Elliot too, but he's another Grey attached at the dick to a chick. It's like their dicks are fingercuffs and they are stuck like two poodles in heat. Granted to use said fingercuffs, digits need to be inserted into rectums, but hey, it might not be my thing but I don't judge. Can't say that I blame them though – their gals are fucking awesome, but I still miss the old days – you know six weeks ago old days. God I'm a whiny cunt. Maybe I do need mega-doses of Midol because I'm going to be lucky not to be shrieking like a raving lunatic, just like Xena in the meme, by the time he comes back from his honeymoon. Gee, maybe in retrospect that meme is fucking hilarious and appropriate. _God damn that motherfucker! _Scratch that_ – God damn that Ana-fucker!_

We are now sitting in the large conference room with the security team winding down our discussion of the upcoming trips to Asia I'll be taking in the next four weeks along with one to Guatemala, which all in all, completely blows. We also discussed security to cover GEH, their honeymoon, and every other bug that happened to have crawled up Christian's well-puckered ass and died this week. Four fucking trips to Asia in four weeks, plus a trip south and one to New York. I hate Thailand and Singapore. I can deal with Japan and South Korea, but fuck, couldn't they have scheduled all these back to back so I only have to fly over the Pacific once and not four fucking times for two to three-day trips each? I fucking hate Thai food. I'm lucky Gwen doesn't stick a butt plug up my ass for my first few days home. Fuck Midol, I will need mega-doses of Beano if I don't take my own food with me on the trip. It's like fucking napalm.

I have to take my one parting meme shot. With a few touches on my phone, I can't resist sending him a meme of Snoopy holding a sign that simply says: _Fuck you Christian_. I've been saving this one. We've been going back and forth all day, but this will be the first time I can see his reaction. I also happen to know he now has a soft spot for Snoopy since the crash. When he sees the text is from me, he rolls his eyes before he even opens it. When he finally does open it, he bursts out laughing causing everyone to look at him oddly.

Our meeting is interrupted when Andrea knocks on the door. When she enters, her eyes meet mine before she turns her attention to Christian. "I'm sorry to interrupt but there is an older gentleman in the lobby claiming to be Ros's father."

"Fuck! Taylor just fucking shoot me now," I mutter before getting up and hitting the security monitor and begin scanning the lobby. When I see him, I can't help but laugh. "That's my _Brio-dad_ Andrea. Can you have them give him a badge and send him up? For a minute there I thought it was my biological dad, in which case I would have sent Sawyer down to _accidentally_ shoot the fucker a dozen or so times – but accidentally."

"We're pretty much through here Ros," Christian smirks looking at Taylor and Sawyer, who match his grin. "I would love to meet your _brio-dad_."

"Oh the stories that man tells. You're in for a real treat Mr. Grey. Don't forget to ask him to pull up pictures on his phone," Sawyer snickered as he got up to leave. I can't resist slapping him in the back of his head as he passes me. Douchebag!

As the kids biological father, he's met Brian on multiple occasions and they've hit it off. Too bad Luke's not twenty years older and gay, or he could be my Saw-dad? Luke-dad? I have no fucking clue, so for right now, I'll just settle for calling him asshole. All I do know is he's nailed more women in the states of Oregon, Texas, and Washington that Elliot and I combined. And his psychiatrist girlfriend? Well, she dumped him this past weekend because he doesn't have time for her. Whiney bitch. I swear there are some awesome shrinks, like Flynn and there are others whom I firmly believe go into the profession because they are so fucked up themselves. This bitch, who's in her residency and never available, is bitching to him about his hours? Fuck her. What does Luke do? Set his sight on Anastasia's assistant at SIP named Hannah. She's a pretty little thing but my guess is she'll tell him to screw himself, but politely. These lit girls really know how to let you down classy – _go fucketh thyself kind, yet horny sir_. I can hear it now.

Once Sawyer leaves, Christian and Taylor gaze at me expectedly. Are all straight men assholes? When Christian hits the intercom and orders Andrea to show Brian into the conference room all I can do is groan. This is going to suck. Brian Bailey has seen me at my lowest – battered, abandoned, and broken. I know Christian is aware of this, which means Jason "_Background Check_" Taylor knows too. Brian helped me take my first steps forward after being discarded by the pious zealots, but he let me find my way and pick up my own pieces, all while he stood by my side providing an occasional nudge in the right direction. Okay, it was more like a swift kick in the ass sometimes, but hey, that's what real dad's do. It was empowering. It's what fucking Luke does when Emma falls down – hugs her, tells her it will be okay, gets her to laugh, and encourages her to try again. Yeah, I adore that asshole. Best choice of sperm donor with parental benefits ever!

It seems odd that Christian and Brian haven't met after all these years. Elliot has met him dozens of times. When I was shot, Brian was on his summer pilgrimage to Amsterdam. By the time he flew here, I was already at home recovering. As he put it, all teachers should summer there after what some of the little fuckers put us through during a typical school year. While he lives and works in Northern California right now, he's got one more year of teaching before he officially retires and heads north to Seattle to enjoy, as he calls it, being a grandfather, buying a vineyard, and exploring romantic possibilities with a new batch of hot guys. Okay, he called them sexcapades, but that fucking creeps me out. This is the man I consider my father for fucks sake. I don't want to imagine him … god I can't even go there.

"So I can't pay you two assholes to go away?" I asked Christian and Taylor, who both smirked and gave me a _hell no_. A second later Andrea opened the door and ushered Brian into the conference room. He looked good for a guy in his early to mid-sixties. Like any child, I rushed over to hug him. "Hey dad." Fuck, I actually sounded sweet. Dammit!

"Hey trouble. Nice to see my baby can survive a helicopter crash and not call her brio-dad. Still rocking Weasley red I see," he chuckles as he takes a good look at me before hugging me tightly again. "Christian, Jason, this is my brio-dad, Brian Bailey."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. Ros has told me about you two over the years," Brian laughs. "All good, I promise." He turns to me, smirks and whispers, "Do you think that was convincing enough?"

"You're starting early dad," I scold him half-heartedly.

"I'm confused," Christian states. "Brian Bailey. I guess I never realized you adopted Ros."

I explain that my parents wouldn't allow it even though they wanted nothing to do with me, so when I was emancipated at sixteen I legally changed my name from Rosalyn Weaver to Ros Bailey. "Come on Christian, you should know me well enough that I'll always find some way to fuck with the establishment."

"True."

"So dad, what are you doing in Seattle? I thought you were in Amsterdam until the school year starts up again."

"Elliot offered to fly me here when the helicopter went down, but before the arrangements were made you two turned up. I figured I'd head here on my own and make sure you were in one piece physically – mentally, who fucking knows but I've wondered about that since you were twelve. Besides, I want to spend time with my grandchildren and a little Elliot bird told me you're going to be flying all over creation for the next month and working like Grey's little bitch while he's off honeymooning. My bags are already in your guest room and Gwen is making my favorite tonight – Thanksgiving dinner off-cycle."

This is awesome. If I have to travel, at least dad can keep Gwen and the kids company. Before I can say another word, dad gets a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "How about getting rid of that awful hair color and going back to your natural red? Make your old man happy."

"I thought that was her natural hair color," Christian mutters.

"Luke thought you might like some pictures of my Ros, not the god unholy bitch you know," Dad laughs pulling out his phone. I'm so fucked. I know what picture he's going to show them. It's the one he took the day after he took me in. I was a broken mess – an absolute disaster. It was also the last day I've ever worn my hair color in its natural shade of very reddish blonde. _Fuck!_

"Quit pouting Ros or I'll plug my damned phone into the monitor and I'm sure Taylor here will gladly show it company-wide," Brian chuckled. Taylor, the asshole that he is, nodded with a smirk.

"Thanks Mr. Bailey," I mutter before folding my arms on the conference room table and putting my head down. Nothing like being undermined at work by a father.

"Mr. Bailey huh?" he laughs before handing his phone to Christian and Taylor who are sitting side by side. The shock on Christian and Taylor's faces as they stared at the picture of my sixteen year old self was depressing. The last thing anyone, much less a former dominant, wants to be seen as is lost, broken and just plain defeated.

"You should be proud of this picture Ros," Christian comments sincerely. "I mean, look at how far you've come since then. You're a leader in the LGBT Community, successful, happy, and have an amazing family despite your birth parents bullshit."

I can't help but laugh nervously. He's right dammit.

"It's my favorite picture of you," Brian explains as I just stare at him "because the gritty kid I'd watched go through hell for four years before those morons kicked you out, and you picked your sorry ass off the floor that day and decided to give the proverbial fuck you to the assholes who had custody of you for the first sixteen years of your life."

"God you guys are a bunch of overly emotional pussies," I snap before laughing.

"Remember good old Pastor Mike?" Brian asks with a smirk. I nod. "Defrocked for being caught in a homosexual relationship with of all people, Pastor Ed."

"Well I guess I won't be alone in hell," I chuckle before grabbing my phone and searching the web as they watch me.

"What trouble are you up to _skunt_?" Brian asks with a smirk as I click the final button.

"If you must know, you _decrepit chickenhawk_, I'm having them shipped extra small condoms, a gallon of lube, chocolate bars, marshmallows, graham crackers and sunblock for their trip to hell."

Christian, god love him, kicked my sorry ass out of the office to go have lunch and spend the afternoon with Brian, Gwen and the kids. It was great and the fucking time flew way too fast. Time flies when you are having fun, right? Well fuck me if my sorry ass wasn't on a plane headed west less than forty-eight hours later. Over the next four weeks I felt like a yo-yo as I went back and forth over the Pacific, then did the walk the dog to Guatemala, then New York, and finally two more trips back to Japan as things didn't go as smoothly as we anticipated.

Four weeks and eighty five thousand air miles, and eight closed deals later, it shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone when I was found passed out on the floor of my office five days before Christian's wedding. I vaguely remember falling to the ground like a thirteen year old that ate two-dozen Jello-shots thinking they were desert. I wish I had the Jello-shot hangover as opposed to the bump on my fucking head. I'm glad it was Taylor who found me and not Christian because he would have sent my sorry ass to the hospital, where as Jason had me checked out by an EMT friend, then drove my sorry ass home for a day or two of rest.

It was during this time that Elliot and _KittyKat_ dragged my sorry ass into the bachelor and bachelorette party debate. Honestly, I didn't give a shit about much of anything at this point. All I know is those two assholes sat on me as I slept on the couch and poked me until I woke up to discuss strippers and debauchery. Fuck, I must be getting old as historically those have been two of my favorite topics. Apparently, Christian or Ana_fucking_stasia don't want wild, stripper-filled parties. Fucking Killjoys!

Gwen suggests we do something at our place as a combined party. I'm too tired to give a shit, so she plans with Elliot and Kate. Better her than me at this point. I know my girl enjoys a good party, so have at it Gwennie, this bitch is going back to sleep. I'm too fucking tired to even care that Elliot and Kate are still sitting on me.

Two days later, it's amazing what they've pulled together – music, catering, crazy lighting, decorations, a small dance floor, and best of all, our kids are with Gwen's parents for the next few days. The theme? _Fuck it, let's party family-style!_ I approve.

It's funny how much of a good time you can have when it's Christian and Ana's families, a few good friends who are more like family, way too much alcohol, and security. Even I have to admit, Gwen, Elliott, and Kate out did themselves. It's intimate, yet open and fun. It doesn't take more than an hour before we all get completely trashed on a combination of champagne and massive quantities of mixed drinks.

Anastasia's father Ray is a quiet guy like Taylor but you can see he adores his daughter and approves of Christian. Her mother on the other hand is odd, but seems decent enough; though I keep waiting for the insecure mess that lies underneath the façade to seep out any time. Anyone married four times must be an insecure mess deep down; either that or prefers replacement dick to her man taking Viagra as in her opinion, his failing is indicative of her score on the attractiveness meter. Her latest husband is decent enough, Bob, or as I heard Ray call him – boob for putting up with Carla's clingy shit for the past few years. Thank god they don't live on the west coast.

At some point during the celebration, Gwen drags me, Kate, Anastasia and Mia into our bedroom – kinky fun? I wish. What I find are five of my little, leather, Gwen-specific bedroom outfits carefully laid out on the bed. WTF? When Gwen and Kate explain it's show time in a few minutes, they throw us each an outfit and styling products – Holy Fuck! I'm Gerri!

When we finish getting ready we look at each other and together we declare we are smoking hot. It seems weird to see Gwen donning a dark brown wig to be Sporty Spice in full black leather workout gear; I'm rocking my inner Ginger Spice – teased hair, my best Dom corset and not all that much more – just enough to cover the incidentals; while Ana is Posh in a little leather belly tank and tiny leather slit skirt; Kate is all made up like Baby Spice wearing a black leather baby-doll dress with high, clunky black shoes; and finally Mia teased out her hair and is rocking a black leather bikini top with skin tight black leather pants.

"Are those things real Ros?" KittyKat … I mean Baby Spice asks me poking my boobs.

"Fuck yes," I counter chuckling. "You can always tell real from fake by motorboating them. The more they jiggle, the more real they are. Show her Gwen."

Gwen laughs and stumbles my way, but Kate being fucking awesome, motorboats me first. It's hilarious. "J – E – L – L – O" Kate sings like the old commercial with a giggle. Yeah, we're completely shitfaced.

"Okay ladies," Gwen announces excitedly. "We're going to do three songs – _Wannabe, Say You'll Be There_, and _Spice Up Your Life_."

"Really?" Ana asks nervously but it comes out slurred before she giggles.

"Come on Ana, we used to do this in our room when we were bored back at school," Kate pushes before breaking out laughing.

Elliot is playing MC for the evening dressed in a black pair of pants and white button down shirt. I know what he's playing at. He's told me about the time when he and Christian were teenagers and got loaded before pretending to be the Blues Brothers. Can you say – encore performance anyone?

He announces the us as the Spice Girls and we come out and take our places on the stage. It's hilarious because Ana can barely walk in the shoes we provided, but fuck if she can't pull off the patented Posh finger point and she does so at Christian, who looks like he's ready to shit a brick seeing his future wife barely dressed on a stage. Get over it Grey, we're with family.

I'm not going to lie to you, dressing up as Geri has been a fantasy of mine since I was a teenager. I mean, who didn't want to be a Spice Girl back then? I wanted to be them, and _do_ them. This was just fucking amazing. We performed three songs – okay, so we weren't the best vocalists and the amount of alcohol consumed had a direct impact on us being able to recall all of the lyrics and stand upright, but god we had fun through our three songs.

Next up was Ray Steele, who grabbed a guitar and Ana for background vocals and explained how when Ana was little they used to sit in the backyard and sing this song. Strumming away on the guitar, they sang a father-daughter rendition of John Denver's _Take Me Home-Country Roads_. It was spectacular and sweet.

Carrick and Grace disappeared into the guest bedroom for a few minutes and came out dressed as Sonny and Cher before taking the stage and performed two Sonny and Cher songs – _I Got You Babe_ and _The Beat Goes On_. Even though drunk, they got the words perfect along with the beat. It made me wonder what they were doing back then. My guess is enjoying the late sixties and early seventies and all the bounties it had to offer in terms of extracurriculars, if you get my meaning.

It was disappointing when Ana's mother Carla and her husband didn't care to perform, but that was quickly forgotten when Elliot dragged a very intoxicated Christian into a bedroom and returned in full Blues Brothers regalia. Together they performed drunken and uncoordinated renditions of _Soul Man_, _Everybody Needs Somebody To Love_, and _Jailhouse Rock_. It was hilarious how many times Elliot, as Belushi, ended up on the floor.

Ana's mother and stepfather were driven back to their hotel around eleven. Good riddance. Carrick and Grace were absolutely fucking hilarious when completely trashed. I think even their kids were shocked. We ended up playing _Cards Against Humanity_ as we sat around the dining room table and those two came up with the most fucked up shit you can imagine. I found new respect for the couple.

I don't remember what time the party ended. All I remember is everyone woke up crashed in and around our apartment. Breakfast consisted of Advil, Excedrin, juice, and we forced Sawyer to go get bagels and all the fixings. There's nothing worse than waking up at ten in the morning still feeling still drunk from the night before.

"Wedding rehearsal and dinner begin in seven hours," Taylor reminds us rather loudly with a smirk.

"What a fucking douche," I mutter as everyone else just groans.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: As this story is almost done, I'm getting ready to start two new stories. The first is "****_The Other Mr. Grey's Wild Ride_****" which is Elliot's tale told from his POV (preliminary page started) and the second is a SECRET PROJECT that I'm looking for a few volunteer writers on. I can't tell you the premise here but I don't think this has been done before that I've seen on this site. It's something I was considering doing on my own but I think it might be more fun to create a circle of stand-alone stories that are linked through the fabric of FSOG-FF Cyberspace. If anyone is interested send me a private message through this site or email me at ****_xwingana at gmail dot com_****. This secret project is called, "****_Journey to the Center of Anastasia's Mind_****". It can be whatever we each decide to make our piece of the story – romantic, comedy, horror, twisted, etc… If I don't get co-conspirators on it, I'll write it myself, but I think having multiple people on it will just make the project that much better.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14: Smoke & Fire

**Chapter 14 – Smoke & Fire**

The Seattle media outlets called it Seattle's Royal Wedding, which made me laugh until I almost peed myself. The national media called it _the wedding that ended hope for womankind_. They forgot gay men across the land as well. What did I call it? Just perfect – small considering who Christian is, serene, and nauseatingly romantic. He looked dapper, okay fucking hot and Ana made other brides look dowdy. She was elegant, beautiful, yet down to earth and approachable. That girl radiates goodness like Chernobyl emits radiation. _KittyKat's_ mom's design fit Anastasia perfectly. I have to admit, even I got misty-eyed when they took their vows and that's saying something. I mean, I didn't even cry at the end of _Old Yeller_ as a kid; though I did laugh my butt off during _The Exorcist_ – now that was an awesome fucking comedy. Maybe that's what made my parents wonder about me - something to dwell on in my limited down time while Seattle's Royal Couple take their three-week honeymoon through Europe and wave to the peasants.

I had the GEH Public Relation's Department wait until the jet was in the air before releasing a Grey Family statement and a single picture of the nauseatingly happy couple. Every time I look at the photograph all I can do is grin and imagine Elena _cunt-face_ Lincoln shitting herself, before probably beating her latest submissive into oblivion. God I loathe that bitch but to call her a cunt is and insult to cunts like me everywhere. A new nickname for her is desperately needed. At one point Sawyer suggested _Mistress Crotch-Rot_. At the time I didn't like it, but it's starting to grow on me – _Mistress Crotch-Rot_… Yeah, I like it.

The GEH plan during the honeymoon was simple, every morning Christian and Taylor would Skype with Sawyer and me to keep them up to date an pertinent events. I have to admit it's been really calm the first two weeks they were across the Atlantic. I'd closed our eight major deals before the wedding, so no more traveling for me for a bit. It was two weeks of research, finding our next acquisition targets, trudging through all the paperwork for anything we missed on our latest acquisitions and developing the final transition plans. Heck, I even got out of work at a reasonable hour nightly and was home by seven p.m. It made the four weeks of travel and craziness worthwhile.

It amazed me that it was so calm around GEH. Sawyer and I didn't go a day without mentioning it. We fell into a regular daily routine – breakfast together before our daily briefing; lunch with Gwen, Brian, and the kids catered into my office; security briefing in the late afternoon adding Barney and Welch into the mix; and closing out our day with summary emails to Christian and Taylor regarding everything. Yeah, they are both fucking control freaks.

Retroactively, I look back on the last few days of Christian's honeymoon and realized those were the days before the upcoming storm. Imagine GEH is a perfectly calm lake – no ripples in the perfect dark water. It was serene, tranquil, and as close to perfect as it could get. We should have realized when we saw that first little ripple in our lake that it was building to a major water spout, but we didn't. We considered it an every day event that someone would try to hack into the GEH servers, so when someone attempted to breach the GEH and SIP servers we put Barney on it but didn't think much of it. It's something we dealt with regularly. Even when we told Christian and Taylor about it, they didn't react either. It's like waking up in the morning with a zit – it sucks balls but it happens.

When my Audi Q7 was found with a flat in the parking lot at home it didn't faze me, especially since Christian had been nagging me to put new tires on the car since I was over the manufacturers recommended tread miles for the past two months. How did I handle that? I had Brian take it for new tires without a second thought, after all, flat tires happen and there wasn't any sign of foul play, rather a nail was in it and there was construction in the Escala parking garage as while Christian and Ana were away, Sawyer and I were coordinating the partial renovation of the penthouse with Elliot to include a safe room off the security office.

After that, Gwen and I did what we always do after the kids go to bed and it's not PG-rated, honestly it's not even NC-17 rated either snicker, but after that, we watched the news. It was all the same stuff – robberies, assaults, politics, sports, weather, and all around depressing shit. The most depressing story was that of a man and his wife who were brutalized in their home, leaving them both clinging to life in the ICU at University Medical Center. When I saw his picture on the screen, he looked vaguely familiar in some way, but I couldn't place him and it went out of my mind when Gwen not so subtly announced she was ready for round two. Hindsight is twenty-twenty but in that moment I was legally blinded by lust. I mean, when you have the love of your life's head between your now parted legs and you're her favorite menu item, there is generally a major brain malfunction. It's a mistake that would be readily apparent within twenty-four hours.

The first thing that made us stop and consider that something more was going on was the day I decided to take an afternoon break and take a walk a few blocks from Grey House to grab a massive cappuccino and a bear claw, okay two bear claws – _yeah, PMS just blows_. I just had to get the fuck out of the office because there were too many fucking inspections going on today – elevator contractor, the argon fire safety system that Barney had installed earlier in the year, the HVAC guys, and even the annual health inspection of the GEH cafeteria. It just sucked. It felt like every asshole under the sun was at Grey House today. Luke and the security team were all over the fucking building checking up on the contractors. I couldn't believe they were all scheduled for the same day. Who the fuck would do that? Fucking moron!

The whole way to acquire my caffeine and sugar fix, I couldn't help but feel like I was in a horror movie – my hair felt like it was standing on end, my heart was racing, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, maybe even followed. At first I thought I was being stupid or that I was already over-caffeinated, but the further I got from Grey House and Luke, the more uneasy I felt. So what do I do? Do I trust my rabid bats fluttering around in my gut and call Luke, or turn around and return to GEH? Nah, I tell myself I'm being a whiny little bitch and keep going. Yeah, some time I'm a fucking dope. I know. Hell, anyone that has met me knows it. Over the years Christian even gave Elliot and I t-shirts that proclaimed we are Dope 1 and Dope 2. Much to his lack of amusement, we wore them to the GEH picnic after we added the following text: _Christian Grey shops for us at Wally World._ That's more offensive to Christian than if we'd said: _As proclaimed by Christian Fuckwad-Grey._

At the coffee house I place my order and plant myself at a window seat while I scroll through my emails on my phone. There's nothing worse than feeling jumpy and being dumb enough to down additional caffeine at the rate of one espresso shot per sip, but hey, I play my '_strengths'_. I finally freaked out when I saw a guy wearing a leather jacket and jeans, dark red ponytail, and a hoop earring across the street with his back toward me. All I could think of was Jack _Jizz-bucket_ Hyde. That fucker attacked Ana, assaulted prior assistants, and knows I work for GEH as opposed to being an independent management consultant. Scummy fucking bastard! _Paranoid much Ros!_

I immediately called Luke, who kept me on the phone as he headed my way with Reynolds. He ordered me not to make eye contact with Hyde, so I sat there staring into my coffee cup. When I gazed back out the window, I finally got a clear look at the dude – or should I say butt fugly chick with the red ponytail. There's not enough alcohol on this earth to make me want to tap that tampon tunnel. When I finally saw her face, I realized I over-reacted and told Luke as he entered the coffee house with Reynolds looking like the men in black, but smoking hot if you based that statement on the women in this place who stared at them lustfully. All around me the ladies began primping their hair, adding lipgloss, and making sure their _girls_ were perky.

All I could do was apologize to them before explaining how stupid I felt after being paranoid on my walk here. Luke, being well a fucking adorable douche, scolded me for going out without security knowing that Charlie Tango was sabotaged not that long ago. As they drove me back to Grey House, I couldn't help but wonder if I wasn't finally going insane or perhaps becoming a paranoid schizophrenic. _Paging Dr. Flynn! Psych Ward - room for one! Indefinite hold! Extra meds please!_

I gave into my paranoia, which apparently was contagious because Luke and Reynolds appeared slightly more on edge and it's all my fucking fault. Sharing is caring I guess. After that I pretty much hide out in my office the rest of the afternoon and early evening working. Anything to distract me from the fact that I am, in fact, a fucking pussy. Freud would call probably call me_ Oedipussy Wrecked_. Fuck, I kind of like that. I could be the latest psychological phenomenon causing a rewrite of all the abnormal psychology textbooks to be rewritten. It would be one thing off my bucket list. Where's Flynn when you need him. Fuck Flynn, where's my copyright lawyer?

_Oedipussy Wrecked_ – a one lesbian show on Broadway; a television series; a trilogy of young adult novels where all vagina's have fangs and they attack men, sucking their blood from their penises. Did you know all it takes to get a guy hard is two tablespoons of blood traveling downward. So I ask you this, why can't they have an erection and think at the same time? I mean, why? Women can fuck, come, balance the checkbook in our heads, make a grocery list, all while we are building to the big O. Two tablespoons… I wonder if that varies based on penis size? I love allowing my mind to wander from one random thought to another. Free-associating is a great time-killer. Yup, I definitely need medication, but then again, I have been known to free-associate myself to almost an orgasmic frenzie. You're jealous, I know. You fucking should be.

I heard my name being called but my brain was still scrambling with this new psychological concept.

"Fuck Ros, come back from rambling wherever that twisted mind took you," Luke snaps half-heartedly at me with a smirk on his face.

When I finally look at him I can't help but laugh at his expectant look. He knows me too fucking well, so all I say is _Oedipussy Wrecked_.

"Sounds like my Saturday nights," he chuckles as he grabs a bottle of water from my mini-frig and passes me one. "The contractors are gone. All the inspections went well. It's seven-thirty. What time do you want to head home so I can drive you?"

"You're going to chauffeur my sorry ass home? Have you lost your mind?"

I watched as he paced the office for a moment, then plopped himself in the chair opposite me. "Ever since this morning something didn't feel right with all of the contractors showing up on the same day. Then when you felt like you were being watched well, it just left me with a rock in the pit of my stomach. I'm sticking around here tonight. I was going to have Ryan drop you at home," he explains rubbing his eyes. "I have a few extra guys coming tonight to do a top to bottom walk through of Grey House. They should be here by nine. Hopefully by then this place will be deserted other than security and Barney."

"And me." There's no way I'm not staying here if he felt the need to bring a full security crew in to do a walk through. I can see he's going to protest, but I cut him off. "Christian would have stayed here if Taylor was doing this. I'm staying. Make sure you order the team in a nice dinner and bill it to GEH. I've got a call with Japan scheduled in about forty minutes, so I'm going to be here until late regardless."

I change from my stilettos into my sneakers and head out of my office with him. Scarfing two massive bear claws as a snack will go right to my ass. It sucks that metabolism slows down after thirty. It's time to hit the steps – twenty flights down followed by twenty flights up and repeat. The trip down was no big deal. Five flights up and I'm already starting to pray for death or at the very least an asthma inhaler. It's been over two months since I've hit the gym or gone running with Elliot – I'm out of fucking shape.

By the time I'm approaching the tenth floor, my eyes are closed as I mechanically force myself to keep climbing. Fucking bear claws. The only reason I know I'm at the tenth floor is I can hear the whir of the servers going a mile a minute. The only thing breaking up the mechanical sounds is me wheezing like I'm about to die. Fuck I'm out of shape. I love this floor – it's colder than the rest of the building, impersonal, and I can fantasize about the servers coming to life and taking over the world. I could be Pinky to its Brain; achieve our goal, then pull his plug and I, Ros Bailey, will take over the world!

I plant my sorry ass on the steps leading to the eleventh floor in order to catch my breath. All I want is my bed, but my fantasy about my bed, Gwen, and chocolate sauce is quickly forgotten when I smell something burning coming from the door to the tenth floor just a few seconds before I actually see the first signs of smoke. Fuck!

Immediately I pull the stairwell fire alarm before grabbing my phone and dialing Luke. As I head through the door and head toward the server area, I can see the glass enclosed server room filling with smoke and I smell gasoline. It's fucking arson. As I'm yelling into my phone at Luke to get the fire department here quickly, I head towards small pockets of fire in the carpeting surrounding the server room. As I start putting them out, I heard the server room's warning alarm – there's two minutes until the argon fire system activates within the room. It's a great system that will put out the fire without damaging the equipment. Outside the room I know I'm safe, but the air in that room will be toxic shortly, hence the warning alarm just before the room seals itself.

"This is arson Luke. It's a gasoline fire," I explain before hearing him scream at me to duck. Befroe I could react, I felt something metal hit the back of my head like I was a baseball and it was the World Series with the bases loaded. I imagine I went down like a rag doll because the next thing I feel is my body being dragged across the carpet toward the server room by some asshole in a ski mask. I can't help but glance toward the door, hoping Luke or another CPO made it to ten. All I see is blood, which I assume is from my head, looking like a major fucking menstrual skid mark. No wonder my vision is blurry and all I want to do is fucking sleep. When I try to struggle against him, he drops me to the ground, and before the spinning stops I catch a glimpse of his fucking steel toed boot heading toward my head, then nothing.

Around me I hear Luke and Barney screaming. It's muffled. All I can do is lay on the floor, cough from the smoke, and pray my head would explode already. The complete and utter panic in their voices urging me to get up and move jolts me enough to open my eyes slightly and look around. Inwardly I'm screaming FUCK! At the top of my lungs. Outwardly I don't think it's apparent that I'm panicked but what the fuck do I know at this point. It's hard to focus and if Angelina Jolie came up to me right now to fuck, I'd send her away. I don't have energy for that shit at this point. The smoke is causing my lungs to burn as I look around the smoke-laden server room in a daze. Whoever the asshole was that attacked me, dragged my sorry ass into the server room after trying to punt my head all the way to CenturyLink Field.

When I finally manage to roll myself over, more to cough than to get myself off the fucking floor, I see the countdown clock mounted to the wall – ten seconds until the system activates. The sound of Luke's body trying to crash through the four-inch thick glass door makes me laugh, then cough and finally sputter painfully. He's never getting through that. I'm fucked and I know it. I manage to glance over at Barney, with his tablet in hand frantically punching buttons. Ryan and Reynolds are now attempting to help Luke get through the door. I signed the work order creating the server room and authorizing the argon containment system and barrier. I know its bullet proof, so unless Barney can over-ride the security code preventing the doors from being opened in a fire, I'm dead. I know Luke and the guys know this. It was our project, our research. The irony isn't lost on me - Mistress Frankenstein destroyed by her own super project.

A new mechanical sound briefly fills the room. I watch as dozens of small nozzles protrude from the ceiling and the sound of gas being released follows. My dazed eyes lock with Luke's haunted blue ones. I can hear him swearing at Barney to hurry the fuck up, but his tortured gaze is locked with mine. He presses massive hands are against the glass door, followed by his forehead, never taking his eyes from mine.

It doesn't take long before I start to feel the effects of the fucking gas – dizziness and lightheadedness worse than I already was; my head which hurt like all hell, now really feels like a heart about to explode beating rapidly; my breathing is out of control and with each gasping breath I feel my lungs burning and finally a moment of complete and utter panic sets in. I don't remember by body going limp but I remember reopening my eyes briefly and seeing the terror in Luke's eyes. All I wanted to do was close my eyes and sleep, but that would be too easy, but fuck it, for once I'm taking the easy way out. I manage to roll over just in time to puke up those fucking bear claws. If I survive this, as god as my witness, I'm off them for life.

Just lying here with my eyes closed feels oddly peaceful. Try as I might to move, I can't. The mind-body detachment is soothing and welcome. It's like being passed out in a meadow of mechanical flowers with the gentle whir of machinery only interrupted by distant banging and thoughts of Gwen and my kids. The last thing I remember before my brain shuts down, is the sound of a Tupperware container opening and guys swearing and all I knew is that for once it wasn't me.

* * *

**_Author's Note: I would like to thank the following authors, whose story updates broke my writing stride, because I compulsively had to read their latest chapters:_**

**_Infamous Chelsea_**

**_CJFAA_**

**_Wattle_**

**_Steele Bound (you're killing me with multiple updates back to back … UGH! I love it!)_**

**_Stupidlysmart23_**

**_Hollylikes2write_**

**_3starsisters_**

**_Grey girl 1989_**

**_If I were Ros Bailey, I'd say, you are all my bitches and I adore your shit (not literally), but since I'm not Ros, just her alter-ego in one story, I'll say – UPDATE NOW DAMMIT!_**


	15. Chapter 15: Topping From The Bottom

**Chapter 15 – Topping From The Bottom**

I could hear the commotion around me, but for the life of me my eyes wouldn't open. The sounds of the chaos were overwhelming – people poking and prodding me before I feel an IV being started; a Darth Vader-like oxygen mask being placed over my mouth and nose; vital signs being phoned into the nearby hospital by what I imagine are paramedics; a nearby television going with the announcement of the death of the GEH Chief Operating Officer in a fire that was deliberately set. I wish I could open my eyes to see the screen because I don't remember kicking the bucket but then again, who does? According to the illustrious fucking media, there's a coroner's meat wagon waiting to haul my pathetic corpse to a freezer. All I know is my head is throbbing and every time I breathe I feel like my lungs are burning, but my first thoughts were of Gwen and Dad – if they are watching television they think I'm dead and panic consumes me making breathing virtually impossible.

I hear an overwrought Sawyer nearby bellowing at the security team to bring down the shades to keep the media from filming the lobby and then screaming at the paramedics to do something to help me. I don't know what they put in my IV but it felt cold, then instantly I started to relax and breathe easier. Even the fucking pounding in my head slowly started to subside. It's all a blur as I drift in and out of it.

"Gwen," I hear Sawyer's now soothing yet somewhat shaky voice. I don't hear her response so he must be on the phone with her. "I promise you the media got it wrong. Ros is alive and I'm looking right at her. She will probably feel unbelievably shitty for a while, but she's not dead. She's just not conscious. I'm sending a team of four CPOs to your apartment. Elliot is on his way there too so you and Brian aren't alone. Don't go anywhere without protection. Promise me that. I've upped protection on all of the Grey's both here and those fluttering around on their honeymoon." He pauses. "Good. Once we know which hospital she's heading to I'll let you guys know plus send a car with additional security to take you both there. I'm pretty certain it's going to be University Medical Center, but I just need to confirm it. The nanny's there today, right? She can stay with the kids and the preliminary four CPOs." Again he paused. "Good," he sighs but I can hear the emotion in his voice. "It's chaos here. As much as I want to head to the hospital with her, I can't. While Taylor's gone, I'm in charge. Reynolds isn't leaving her side and Ryan is following with another CPO to stand guard at the hospital. I'll text you the facility as soon as they stabilize her for transport."

All I can do is listen as I mentally drift everywhere and anywhere. I listen as Luke orders Barney to email a link to Taylor and Christian of the incident footage and to set up a conference all. "You did great today Barney," Luke praises him. "If you hadn't hacked that keypad, she'd be dead."

"Guess who's going to Comic-Con in LA next year on Ros," Barney mutters happily. Only Barney could see the light at the end of this tunnel within minutes of it happening, but he's right, I'm sending him to Comic-Con first class next year; maybe to the one in London too. It's the least I can do for my favorite little geek. Besides if Barney is planning for me to be alive, I must not be dying any time soon or in hell. "I arranged for specialists to be waiting for Ros as University Medical Center to evaluate the impact of the smoke and chemicals on her. I used Mr. Grey's name. I hope that is acceptable," Barney asks.

"If Ros were conscious she'd kiss you, maybe your ass too," Luke told him. "I need you to look into a few things for me – how all of the contractors and inspections got scheduled the same day, footage of Ros's car from the garages at Escala, GEH, and her place; City Cam footage between here and the coffee house Ros likes between the hours of two and three today; dig further into the recent hacking attempts at GEH and SIP; and have Welch get me updated background checks on every contractor and subcontractor that set foot in here today – especially the Argon system contractor, because it looks like it was one of theirs that attacked Ros based on preliminary video, but I still want to cover all our bases."

"Will do," I hear Barney mumble as he shuffles away. God I wish he'd learn to pick up his fucking feet when he walks.

I listen as the paramedics inform the hospital that my blood pressure, respiration, and blood oxygen levels are stabilizing. That's good, right? Now if I could just open my eyes. God I still feel like shit. I wish I could just say: more fucking drugs please. I feel myself being lifted and placed on a gurney as Sawyers phone rings for what feels like the millionth time.

"Sawyer," he answers. "It's a fucking mess here Mr. Grey. I promise you Ros isn't dead regardless of what the media alert is stating. Give me a minute. They are getting ready to transport her to the hospital. I'll put you on speakerphone."

I listen as Luke asks the paramedics how I'm doing and their reply of good considering everything. I hear the worry in Christian's voice as he tells them to make sure the hospital spares no expense on my treatment. Typical Christian, he thinks money is pasta and you can throw it against something and it will stick and things magically get done.

As they start to wheel me out, I can feel Sawyer's hand in mine an instant before he whispers to me it's going to be okay and my family will meet me a the hospital. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me." I do one better and with my index finger I slowly spell _fuck you_ on his palm, causing him to laugh and instantly I can feel him relax.

"You're one of a kind Ros," he tells me before ordering the paramedics to take care of his girl. It's the closest thing I've been to considering myself a heterosexual. It feels oddly creepy, yet kind of cool.

* * *

I must have fallen asleep in the ambulance because the next thing I know, I finally open my eyes and I'm in the emergency room surrounded by really hot doctors and nurses. "If you're strippers, I need a margarita or two first before I loosen the old purse strings and start stuffing fivers."

Then I hear the best sounds in the world – the sound of Gwen, Brian, and Elliot laughing nearby. "Laugh all you want you three, you're my bitches during my recuperation period and I like to be spoiled."

The fucking oxygen mask is annoying and I pull it off, only to have one of the doctors put it back on as he explains I have to remain at least overnight so they could evaluate any potential damage to my lungs. As to my head, well, eight stitches and a concussion. He has me follow his finger with my eyes, which makes my head throb. If my blood work comes back within normal ranges I would probably get to go home some time tomorrow. Since when did I do anything normal?

When the medical team left us alone, Gwen immediately was at my side hugging me. Either I smell like shit or she smells better than ever. Fuck this, I remove the mask and bring her lips to mine – gently at first but more than anything, I need her to understand how much I love her. I don't give a shit that we have an audience, but Elliot's remark of 'that's so fucking hot' causes us both to laugh, breaking the moment.

"You look good for a dead person Ros," Brian mutters as he hugs me tightly. "You had us worried."

"Hey cockroach," Elliot mutters emotionally as he hugs me. "Christian and Taylor are worried sick about you."

As he continues to hug me, I reach into his back pocket and grab his cell phone. Finding Christian's number, I hit dial and wait.

"Elliot, how is she?" I hear Christian ask sounding concerned. Based on the connection quality, I assume that I'm on speakerphone with him and Taylor.

"She's ready to do the Snoopy dance Grey," I laugh before coughing. "Well this sucks."

"Ros," I hear him sigh with relief. "You scared us shitless."

"What can I say, every so often a neurotic girl like me needs to know that she's loved and appreciated. You should have heard Sawyer, what a fucking pussy," I chuckle before groaning as my head throbs. "How about using all your clout to get them to pull out the morphine so I can be high as a kite, so my head stops hurting, and I can have really fucked up dreams."

"Like you're not fucked up enough," Brian mutters.

"Do you feel up to telling us what the hell happened?" Taylor asks with a slight echo. God I hate speakerphone reverb. If my head wasn't throbbing like the speaker when Howard Stern made that woman orgasm as she straddled the darn thing – treble down, base up. That doesn't work by the way. Trust me, Gwen and I know – call it our exploratory phase after too much wine one night. Maybe I should yodel just to hear it with reverb and annoy Christian; maybe then he'd unclench his ass and know I'm okay. Overprotective asshole. God I love him.

I explain walking up the steps and stopping at ten for a break, causing Christian to chuckle and ask if it was bear claw overdose yet again. He knows me too fucking well. "I smelled the smoke before I saw it, hit the alarm and went onto ten to evaluate the situation. Some asshole practically knocked me out cold with something metal before dragging me toward the server containment room. I struggled and obviously failed miserably because the next time I opened my eyes I was trapped in the server room with the countdown going on. I'm sure you saw the rest on surveillance video. Did you get a good look at the guy?" I couldn't go into detail of my time in the server room and hold it together. I don't do helpless well, but couple that with the countdown and watching Sawyer and the guys lose it, I knew if I had to describe it, I would fall apart. I didn't want Gwen, Brian, and Elliot to see me like that. They were worried enough as it is. Me falling apart wouldn't help matters.

Taylor explains his face was obscured between a mask and a hat, so we were flying blind at this point, though they believe they had a partial facial on him from when he entered the building with the other authorized and cleared contractors.

"We're cutting the trip short and should be heading home in a few hours," Christian states flatly.

"Don't be an ass. Enjoy the last few days of your honeymoon. There's nothing you can do here. Sawyer has it all under control from what I hear," I inform them before shrugging at Elliot hoping he'll confirm that I'm right. He agrees. "If you rush home, you're just going to freak your wife out. I'm okay and being discharged tomorrow. You pay Luke and company big bucks, let them earn their keep. They'll keep us informed with everything and I'm planning on doing a walk-through of the damage with Elliot tomorrow once I'm out of this shithole."

"Just go home tomorrow and take it easy until I get back Ros. Make your apartment your home base," Christian orders. "Don't stop at Grey House either. Just go home and rest. You're right, Sawyer can handle it."

"I have a walk-through of the damage with Luke and my foreman tomorrow morning," Elliot informs me. "From what Sawyer's telling me and the pictures I've seen of the damage, the argon system paid for itself because the damage is minimal considering what it could have been. GEH will be shut for a few days for inspections, repairs, and re-inspections, but I think it will be operational in a few days. According to Barney the servers weren't damaged. We're looking at new carpeting and paint after an industrial clean up crew comes in and sanitizes the place. There isn't any structural damage to the building that I could see."

"Any thoughts on who could have done this?" Brian asks cautiously.

I can't help but yawn and close my eyes as I continue. "In M&A people tend to get pissed off when they've invested costly time and man hours on deals that don't happen for them. Believe me, we've pissed off people over the past few years by stealing companies out from under their noses, so the list is probably significant. I mean, in the past six weeks I closed eight distinct deals of which one was unwelcome by the current owner, but I convinced him that it was either selling it or plant closure."

A nurse interrupted our call, followed by two transport attendants. Apparently I'm going to a private suite. It would be humorous if the situation weren't so fucked up. I was wheeled into an elevator with two hospital attendants, Ryan, Elliot, Brian, Gwen, and two other CPOs. All that were missing were handcuffs because I felt like a fucking prisoner. If I were a Harry Potter book, I'd be the _Prisoner of Gwenskaban_, because I know for the next few days, no matter how much I piss and moan like a little fucking bitch about wanting to go to work, Gwen owns my sorry ass. I'd say she's topping from the bottom, but that's a daily occurrence for us. This will be take no holds barred, I'm at her mercy and there will be no talking back, no defiance, and more than anything, no refusal to take medication or I'll hit the mother of all sexual dry spells because in her eyes, I can see she was scared shitless. Yup, I'm her obedient little bitch and I love it.

* * *

It's confession time. I kicked Elliot, Brian, and Gwen out because I wanted them to be with the kids overnight. I felt better knowing at least one of us was there with them on top of the CPOs and the nanny. That plus I wanted time alone because I was struggling to hold it together. I know, it seems highly unlikely that I'll confess to anything embarrassing, but the truth is when Luke showed up in my hospital room around three in the morning fresh from the events at Grey House, I hugged him until he cried uncle and then he hugged me as I bawled my fucking eyes out like a pussy. I felt like a shaken soda bottle and seeing him was like pulling the cap off. The emotional eruption that followed tore away my carefully staged bravado, like shit out of anyone who eats at White Castle. I felt over-medicated, dazed, raw, and fucking vulnerable. The whole time Luke whispered to me that it was okay to step out of the cone of silence and let the emotions out.

The image of Luke staring at me through the glass while he wore his emotions on his sleeve are permanently embedded into my psyche. If this were Star Wars, the big lug went dark side – anger, fear, aggression, and add to that hopelessness and defeat. I swear he looks like he's aged five years overnight. I imagine I don't look much better. I'm glad it's Luke seeing me lose it, and not Gwen or Elliot. They were already skirting the edge over the situation, seeing me crack would have been just enough of a nudge to push them over.

Luke's physically and mentally exhausted. I can almost feel what's left of his energy draining from him. "Go home and rest Luke. You have a long day tomorrow. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"I'm staying what's left of the night to keep an eye on my favorite bitch wearing a gaudy 1980's head band," he mutters as he pulls a green sharpie from his pocket and proceeds to write on the bandage wrapped around my head. Smirking, he pulls over the tray table, opens the top and shows me what he wrote in the mirror – _Please scan for residual brain cells. Major leakage suspected._ My head throbs as I read the mirror image text.

If I'm being honest, I liked the idea that he's here. I trust him with my life. I have for years. He's another one of the big brothers I always wanted and never had. He pulls a chair up to the side of my bed and I watch as he kicks off his shoes, and removes his jacket and tie. It's almost comical watching him plop himself in the chair and put his feet up on my bed. I can't help but laugh. He's too fucking tall to really consider sleeping like that. I shimmy over and pat the side of my bed, promising not to violate him unless he was okay with being puked on because penises are revolting. He moves to sit next to me in the bed, wraps his arm over my shoulder and we watch crappy infomercials, discuss how fucking amazing Barney was under pressure, and finally states that the inspection and contractor appointments were all altered thirty-six hours ago by Laura, the personal assistant to the Facilities Director at Grey House.

Luke and the police believe that the brutal assault on the husband and wife I'd seen on the news is linked to the fire, as the husband was an inspector for the fire prevention system company and it was his identification that whoever started the fire altered and used. The perpetrator even hacked into the companies human resources system and temporarily placed his own face in their data banks so it would be a match, thereby passing the security check. Once he was in, he remotely logged back in and removed every trace of his picture from their servers and back up systems. Whoever this was knew what they were doing.

The nurse came in to check my vitals around four a.m. and shot more medication into my IV to help with my breathing, nausea, and pain level. I vaguely remember falling asleep with Luke's arms around me, but when I woke up hours later, I found a note from him stating he left at six to go home, shower, shave, and then meet Elliot and building inspectors at Grey House by seven, but he'd be here when I was discharged.

Later that day, I was discharged home with Luke, Brian, Elliot, Gwen, and Reynolds surrounding me. All that was missing was an old-style Egyptian sedan chair carried on sticks to make me feel like a royal bitch as they carry me from the hospital. That would have been too much to ask with the horde of media camped outside waiting for my discharge. I'm cringe-worthy, not newsworthy. They need to get over it.

We step out the hospital door and are met by the GEH Public Relations Director, who I call Joe Asshole. He's just such a jerk. My head's pounding and they expect me to make a fucking statement, so if I'm going to do this, it will be done my way. It's like proof of life on a hostage.

"Hello everyone. Let's keep this short, simple, and to the point – I'm not dead, though I may smell that way after two days without a shower. If you play this recording backward, you'll hear _I buried Ros_. Let the conspiracy theories begin. If McCartney can do it, why can't I? Any questions?"

"What happened at Grey House?" I hear some asshole yell out.

"A fire. Don't you read the news? Next?"

"Miss Bailey, is it true you were attacked when you stumbled upon the fire?" another fucking moron. That information was released to the media.

"I suggest you and your friend over there," I begin as I point to the reporter, and I use the term loosely, who asked the first stupid question, "begin to watch the local news before having your mommies dress you and come out for a press conference. God, you're making my head throb. Next?"

"Are there any suspects in the attack and arson? Is it someone known to GEH or yourself?" a female asks.

"The police and GEH security are working together to narrow down a potential list of suspects. Beyond that, we're unsure at this time though a list is being compiled. Last one," I announce and point at Kate who is standing in the front row.

"How are you feeling and do you think the cost of the argon fire system was worth it under the circumstances?" she asks. I can see the relief in her eyes. Yeah, I love KittyKat for my Elliot.

"I've had better times, but I'll be fine in a few days. I'd like to acknowledge the GEH IT and Security staffs, as without them I wouldn't be here today being obnoxious and short-tempered. To those in the media who pronounced me dead, I'm a fricking phoenix and I'll always rise from the ashes just to annoy people. What can I say, I can't fight nature." They chuckle. "GEH installed the argon system to protect our servers just about six months ago. It worked quite well, though I would recommend having an over-ride switch inside the containment area when the doors seal in case someone is stuck inside when the warning buzzer sounds. The system exceeded all of our expectations." I wrap my arm around Gwen and continue. "Now it's time for me to head home, recover, and spend time with my wife, family, and friends."


End file.
